


Our Neighbours In The Zombie Apocalypse

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, OT6, Zombie AU, apparently i'm incapable of not giving gavin abandonment issues oops, but with no character death, in which everybody has trust issues, myan centric at first but ends up as ot6, this will have a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:09:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael knows how it works in this new world. People show their true colours and groups fall apart. He has Ryan, and that's all he needs. He has Ryan, and Jack has Geoff. Ray works better on his own. Gavin always finds himself left behind. Michael's done with big groups – but somehow the six of them just keep running into each other, again and again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **t/w: genre-typical violence (ie zombies), references to non-main characters having committed suicide in the wake of the apocalypse**

Michael first encounters Gavin right at the beginning, before everything really, properly goes to shit.

He will not remember this until much later. Gavin does not make much of an impression on him at the time. They do not exchange words. The only reason Michael notices him, really, is because he's the only one of his group that is not a soldier.

They meet on the road, at night. This is one month after the first person comes back from the dead and one week after it goes from a contained disease to an uncontrolled outbreak. People have just begun evacuating. The military is still in control of some areas. But others, others have been overrun by the living dead and people are scattered, trying desperately to get away, to the cities that it's rumoured are safe.

Michael's with a handful of others, people he's met out here – no one he's close to, just travelling together because it's safer in a group – and when they encounter the military out on the highway his first thought is _thank fucking God_ because they should be in control of this shit, right? It's been at the back of his mind since all this started, some vague hope that this is just temporary, that soon the government will get it all under control and things will go back to normal.

It's zombies, for fuck's sake, surely the world's seen enough movies about them to know what to do, how to deal with it.

But apparently not; there are half a dozen men and women in front of them and they all look really, really fucking out of their depth and when the woman who seems to be in charge starts going on about some military camp they're making their way to – says it'll be safe there – Michael doesn't believe her because he can hear it, a nervous tremor in her voice. She's young and looks like she's lost without orders.

“Trust me,” she says, voice rising in the dark of the night. “If there _is_ a refugee setup the way you're going, it'll be overrun by the time you get there. It'll be safe at the camp, that's where we're headed, we know what we're doing-”

Michael's gaze drifts to the rest of the soldiers. They've moved up behind her, faces drawn, lips pressed tightly together. They look as out of their depth as everyone else.

His eyes fall on another man, at the back of the group. He's not a soldier, Michael can tell immediately, he's not in uniform and not even carrying a weapon and he's scrawny with bad posture. A young guy, Michael's age maybe. Messy hair and huge wide eyes. Clean shaven. Innocent looking in the way all of them are innocent now, an innocence that will fade away quickly in the days and weeks that follow as the world goes further and further down the toilet.

He's pressed close to the side of a larger man, a dark-haired soldier about their age too. As Michael watches he tugs on the other man's arm.

“We don't even know if the camp will be there,” Michael hears him whisper, “The other day she said there was radio silence from-”

“Shut up, B,” the soldier hisses, casting a quick glance at the rest of Michael's group to make sure none of them heard. “It'll be there, it has to be.” They both sound English, which is faintly surprising.

The man bites his lip, looking away. His eyes catch Michael's and he freezes as he realises he overheard. Michael stares back at him, eyes wide, breath hitching in his throat because the guy looks _terrified_ the way Michael has been terrified since the hordes reached his neighbourhood. Holding it together but barely restrained panic behind his eyes – a lurking fear that this is it, it's hopeless, it's out of control and nothing's coming to save them – and that's when it hits Michael that the woman is wrong and the soldiers do _not_ know what they're doing, at fucking _all_ because if this dude's with their group and even he doesn't trust them, there's no way Michael's gonna go gallivanting off with them to who knows fucking where, to a camp that might not even be there.

His group breaks apart; half of them go with the soldiers and the rest decide to take their chances on the refugee camp they've heard about, in the outskirts of a city up ahead, a day's travel up the highway – less if they can find a car.

Michael goes along with them but he feels sick to his stomach as he watches the soldiers move on past. Sick with fear and nerves and something perilously close to _despair_ even if it's been only a week, a fucking week since this all really got out of hand and some part of him is still clinging to some faint, desperate hope that it'll all get sorted out by like, the fucking CDC or Obama or _something_ but for now, for now he just needs to find somewhere safe.

And he watches the man from before pass by with the others – he glances back towards Michael and they make eye contact again, briefly. The guy looks worried at the sight of Michael's group about to move on alone in the dark, but they don't have time to dwell on it. His soldier friend puts an arm around him and pulls him along, something protective in his stance, and Michael looks away, swallowing.

It must be nice, he thinks, a little bitterly, having someone to look out for you, especially now with the world what it is.

His family are all a good few states away and he hasn't been able to get in touch with them, let alone think about trying to travel there. None of his friends have come to find him either.

And he feels a sudden pang, because he really is miserably on his own here, nothing but a scattered group of mild acquaintances by his side as they march off up the road together.

—

—

—

At the start there is fear. But eight months is a long time. You get used to shit.

Here is Michael, walking. He has been walking for a long time but he is used to that as well. Finding working cars is not as easy as movies would have you believe. His hands by his sides, swinging gently. Knife at his belt. Backpack on his shoulders. Humming gently under his breath tunes that he hasn't heard in months now. That is one thing that goes missing from the world like perishables. Music.

It's another thing you get used to, the quiet.

He's been alone for a long time as well.

Which is why, when he hears the rev of an engine on the road behind him, he jumps nearly a mile out of his skin, yells “Fuck! Fuck fuckshit,” in surprise, and then does a rather embarrassing sort of dive to the ground in a mediocre attempt at hiding in the long grass.

It's afternoon and the sun is high in the sky, not remotely dark enough to hide him. The car was travelling quite fast but it pulls up now, just alongside him, and his breath catches in his throat, his heart nearly stops. The heady sweet smell of grass seeds too strong in his nose, overwhelming. The sun too hot on his back.

It has been a month since he saw another survivor.

The ones he saw before that were not very nice.

The car window rolls down and he's debating the merits of getting up and running, or trying to like, fucking army-crawl away on the off-chance he hasn't actually been seen – but as it is, some guy leans out the window and calls out, a bit awkwardly, “Hey, I can, um. I can see you hiding there.”

“You got a gun?” Michael hollers back.

There's silence from the man. Then he replies, “No.”

“Yeah, well, _I've_ got a gun.” That is a lie but the man does not have to know that. “So no funny business, alright?”

“Is that a threat?” There's something wary in the man's tone and Michael bites his lip, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest.

“Not unless you give me a reason to threaten you,” he replies.

“Okay,” the man says, and Michael stands up and puts his hand in his jacket like he really does have a gun in there. The guy is watching him warily.

He's not old, but he's older than Michael. Haggard the way everyone is haggard nowadays. Blue eyes and dark blonde hair and a bit beardy. But he doesn't look cruel, or hard, like others Michael has seen. Just a bit bewildered by being confronted by a short, very angry looking man who refuses to take his 'gun' out of his jacket.

“There is really no need for that,” the man says, “I have no intention of doing anything to you?”

“Why'd you stop driving then?”

“Saw you fall over and thought you had fainted.” There's a hint of amusement in the stranger's tone. “Or that you might be hurt.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not, so on your way then.” He waves a hand along the road and the man stares at him.

“...do you want a lift?”

“What are you, fucking Good Samaritan or some shit?”

“No, but I could use backup with a gun,” the man replies, with a half-smile. And then, like he thinks it will somehow make Michael trust him more, “I'm Ryan, by the way.”

Michael stares at him suspiciously, a fundamental shivering distrust low in the pit of his stomach.

But he has been walking for days; he has blisters on top of blisters and it sucks being out in the open when the sun goes down. There aren't too many zombies in these back roads but that's going to change the closer he gets to the city.

And there is something very soft in Ryan's eyes.

“Michael,” he replies, warily, and Ryan nods, leaning further out the window to hold out a hand. Michael shakes it. His palm is warm, rough, calloused – Michael shivers a bit at the first human contact he's had in literally _weeks_ – and then, when Ryan lets go, he turns his thumb up like he's hitchhiking and Ryan _laughs_ , and Michael grins, and opens the passenger door and gets in the car. It's blissfully cool in there after the heat of the noonday sun.

“I don't actually have a gun,” he says, a few minutes after they start out, and Ryan laughs again.

“You handy with that knife, then?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Then I could still do with the backup. And the company. Headed to the city?”

“Yeah. Hoping there's food there.”

“Then we're in the same boat. Or, well, car.”

Michael hums agreement. Another silence falls over them as the car speeds down the empty road, and he darts a glance across at Ryan – catches him staring back at him as well – and doesn't miss the tiny, almost relieved smile on the other man's face. Like he's gotten too used to being alone as well.

That's how it is, now. For a few months people pulled together. Groups, camps, little communities forming wherever they could find safety – but when no one came to help them, when everyone started going all Lord of the Flies on each other – when the zombies started forming mobs that overran anywhere populated – those communities broke apart. People splitting off into pairs or trios or going off on their own. Better chance of surviving that way.

And Michael survived, but he sure as fuck missed _people_ , and maybe hitching a lift off a total stranger isn't exactly the way he expected to 'rebuild his human connections' or whatever, but the fact stands that he is now in a car, not exposed and vulnerable out on the road, and this Ryan hasn't tried to horribly murder him yet and if he does Michael can probably hold his own.

He finds himself absently humming that snatch of a tune under his breath again and Ryan glances over at him, startled. Michael grins again.

“You remember that song?”

“Of course. How could I ever forget Beyoncé?”

They exchange a wide grin, Michael relaxing a little into the car seat.

“You reckon she's still alive?” he asks, and Ryan snorts loudly.

“I damn well hope so! Weird to think of which celebrities might still be surviving out there.”

They begin a game of it, tossing out names and the likelihood that they've managed to make it; it's a bit morbid, maybe, but by this point it's laugh or cry about a lot of things, and Michael, for one, would rather laugh – and it really is something, now, to have someone to laugh _with_.

—

Michael doesn't trust Ryan right away. That would be stupid.

He totally doesn't fall asleep in the car next to him, leaving himself completely exposed and vulnerable were it to turn out that Ryan is a serial killer or a raider or any of the unsavoury sorts that lurk in this new world. That's not a thing that happens. He just – dozes off, a little bit. So sue him, he's been walking for days.

And if he wakes up, startled, with Ryan's jacket over him and the other man still humming softly – well, who can blame him if he closes his eyes and lets himself drift back off again, able to rest without worrying about something sneaking up on him for the first time in a long time.

—

The place they are headed is not a city so much as it is a very large town, in a somewhat rural area. Big enough that it'll have resources, but without the large population levels that make the bigger cities so terribly dangerous.

There's a pileup of cars on the road leading into town, though, bad enough that it blocks their way. Michael can see a few shambling figures in the mess, but not so many that he's overly worried.

“Looks like we'll have to head in on foot,” Ryan says grimly, glancing across at him. “You okay with that?”

“Not like we have much other choice.” He's already undoing his seatbelt. “Doesn't look like there's too many. We can run and they can only walk, we'll be fine.”

“Running: the everyman's weapon against the zombie apocalypse,” Ryan mutters, and Michael barks out another laugh.

“Hell, they're slower than that. You could probably survive on a brisk jog if you were careful.”

“Not like I don't have enough practice at that.”

“Dude, you're telling me. The one upside to this whole mess? I'm fitter than I ever was before.”

Michael doesn't miss the way Ryan's eyes flick up and down him, and feels abruptly self conscious before shoving it away – _stupid_ – they've barely met.

“Rule one, cardio,” he blurts out, in an attempt to draw attention away from his sudden nervousness.

Ryan's face splits into another smile, and Michael can't draw his gaze away. It's been a long time since he saw another human let alone a _smiling_ one and there's something nice about it. About still being able to do that here and now.

Perhaps alone wasn't so great after all.

“Rule two double tap?” Ryan asks, and Michael gives a mighty snort, nose wrinkling.

“Fuck that one. I always thought it was a waste of ammo. If we even had a gun.”

“Probably for the best we don't,” Ryan replies. “They're attracted to noise.”

“Yeah, I worked that out already.” Michael sighs, looking at the distance stretching out ahead of them. The long expanse of road fading away into dusk at the horizon, terrible in its silent stillness, the lack of traffic and sound. They'll reach the city by nightfall.

He'd feel nervous about walking alongside the highway if he was on his own – he's gotten good at picking off zombies but all it takes is one slip up – but even if he doesn't know Ryan that well it's reassuring, suddenly, to have someone else at his back, especially someone who seems to know what they're doing.

“Shall we?” he asks, and Ryan starts to walk but then pauses, hesitant.

“When we get there,” he says, and Michael bites his lip, unsure what's coming. “What are you going to do?”

“Look for somewhere safe to set up a base,” Michael replies immediately. “Yourself?”

“Same.”

An awkward pause.

“We could, uh, stick together,” Ryan says, looking suddenly doubtful. “If you wanted.”

Ryan is a stranger. They've known each other a grand total of one day but already Michael wants to say _yes_. Michael has sat in his car and eaten his food and _laughed_ with him and it's – stupid, but he trusts his gut and he's not getting a bad vibe from Ryan. He held up fine on his own these last few months. The people he did run into weren't the good sort. But Ryan – Ryan seems different, and Michael thinks about how long it's been since he had a proper conversation with another human or didn't have to worry about someone watching his back, and he can see the effort it took Ryan to ask – like he isn't quite sure about this either – and that uncertainty is what makes him nod, because they really are both in the same boat.

“I think I'd like that,” he says, quietly, and Ryan just smiles again, something small and far too hopeful in it, and when they get out of the car and head on up the road together the world does not seem quite so vast and empty as it did before.

—

—

The apartment block is small, in a quiet suburban area. There are few zombies around; Michael knows they'll have congregated around the busier areas of town. Formed hordes.

The fire door is unlocked and they break in through there. There is one zombie in the lobby; a half-eaten woman sitting sprawled against the mailboxes. There is blood smeared dark on the walls and floor. This is nothing new to Michael, but empty buildings are always eerie, especially at night, with their stale smell and that lingering _wrongness_ of places that should be full of noise and life just – not.

The zombie starts to rise, groaning gently when she sees them. Ryan steps forward and stabs her neatly through the eye with his knife before Michael can even blink. A quick efficient motion. He turns and looks at him then and gives a small nod; Michael nods back.

Ryan moves with the ease of someone who has done this a hundred times before. Michael does too. He's been bouncing from place to place a lot these last few months.

They sweep the building. There are no other survivors around and few zombies; it looks like they all evacuated. They pick a flat on the top floor near the fire escape. There's no one inside; whoever lived there before cleared out early, it seems. They barricade the door and stand there in a stranger's living room staring at each other, in the cold blue moonlight filtering in through the window.

“Home sweet home,” Michael says, and Ryan gives a little scoff.

—

They stay there, for a while.

—

“Were you with a group before?” Ryan asks that first night.

They found a little kerosene stove, have it lit up between them, soup warming on the gas plates. Michael's hair is damp and steaming a little in the heat. The building has a rainwater tank and it was good to wash off the grime of the road. Dust and dirt and blood engrained in his skin after months outdoors.

“I was,” he replies, cautiously. “Were you?”

Ryan hesitates, then gives a brief nod. “For a while.”

“That's how it always is,” Michael says, dismissively. “Why'd you leave them?”

Ryan looks away, picking at the hems of his sleeves.

“Things fell apart. People change, now,” he says, and Michael nods; he knows it's true, he's seen it. “Some got power hungry. Some got selfish. It didn't matter that we were a group. In the end they only cared about themselves. Surviving whatever it took. The ones of us who didn't want that, we moved off on our own. Got out when we could.”

It's a story Michael has heard a few times over. One that he's lived himself. He feels sick to think about some of the people he's seen, the things they did. It made him angry for a very long time. He is still angry now, a low burn hot in his gut. Disgusted by what some people let themselves turn into. And beneath that, fear of getting pulled into something like that again.

“No one can help everyone now,” Michael agrees. And then, after a minute, “I'm done with big groups.”

Ryan glances at him almost shyly, like he isn't quite sure how to take that, and Michael softens a little. It is easy to cling to his anger and his mistrust but somehow, here in the warm little room and the flickering soft candlelight, part of him wants to let that go.

“But I'm also kinda done with being alone,” he admits, and Ryan smiles, wide and relieved.

“Two's company, they say,” he says. And then, “Soup's done.”

—

They get to know each other pretty quickly; it's hard not to, with just the two of them, almost _greedy_ for each other's company, drinking in the human contact like they're starving for it.

Ryan is a nerd. He uses big words but flubs them half the time. He still _reads_ , even with the world what it is. Picks up books where he finds them, discards them when he leaves; there's something endearing about that, about the fact that the world's gone to shit outside yet he's still taking the time to entertain himself.

He likes video games and some anime and they bond over that. Stupid old-world things that they'll never see again, reminiscing back on them like they're the classics.

He likes dogs. He's crazy good with a knife and knows how to throw one as well; that was a treat, seeing him take down a zombie from the length of a street. But for all the violence they commit together, taking down the undead wherever and whenever they need to, he's surprisingly gentle in all other aspects. Always careful with Michael, never harsh in his words or his actions. An odd sweetness against everything else in this world.

He is almost intimidatingly intelligent, Michael learns this early on. Well read and quick witted and Michael is – worried, irrationally, in a way he normally never is, that he's _annoying_ to Ryan, that the other man only puts up with him because he has no one else. He's nowhere near as well educated, he knows. He swears too much and he's too sarcastic but Ryan-

Ryan laughs a lot, they both do, and he seems to genuinely enjoy Michael's company, and the worries fade as days together turn into weeks together stretch out into inordinate lengths of time that it's impossible to keep track of. Ryan is smart but he's never arrogant and Michael-

Michael trusts him.

—

In all the movies the world ends up drained of colour once the dead take over, like life leached out of the cities along with the people.

That is not true because the world is more colourful than ever.

Even just over the last half a year the vegetation has risen up a little, green sprouting between the cracks of concrete and tarmac. The cars abandoned in the street sparkle in the sunlight, clean after the heavy rains that came a few weeks ago. Twinkling gleams of colour out in the roads; roads that are painted red with blood and carrion. Always a terrible buzzing silence that used to make Michael's skin crawl. It is more bearable with Ryan by his side.

Their scavenges take them to half-raided super-marts and corner shops and occasionally people's houses. Michael is no stranger to avoiding and killing the undead but here, with Ryan, it's different.

They make a game of it, a little. Count their kills and see who can get more. Still careful to never get reckless. There's something like a thrill in the danger, something Michael's never felt before; maybe he doesn't take it as seriously now as he used to. Maybe he doesn't mind that.

—

“Where's your family?” Ryan asks one evening.

It's warm in their little flat, the stove working away on the extra gas they've found. Rain's coming down outside; it's odd hearing something out there. Normally it's death-silent.

They talk about before a lot but it's always in terms of things they miss. Things like food and TV shows and Xbox and hot showers. Not people.

Maybe if it was someone else Michael would have told them to mind their own fucking business but Ryan is different somehow and he swallows.

“Jersey,” he replies. “Too far away from here for me to even attempt to get there. I know they got hit by the outbreak, so.”

“They might still be alive.”

“Or they might be fucking dead. Either way it doesn't matter. I've gotten over it so why cause myself pain by digging up old ghosts?”

Ryan bites his lips and looks like he's going to say something, like _I'm sorry_ or some other worthless platitude.

“You?” Michael asks, before he can.

“Parents had passed away even before all this. No siblings. So just – extended family, really. All back in Georgia. Maybe I should have tried to find them, but...” A sigh. A shrug. “Too late now I guess.”

“No girlfriend?” Michael asks, carefully. “Before all this? Or boyfriend, if that's what you're into?”

Ryan doesn't answer that one. He looks away and makes a show of checking the water on the stove even though they both know it's not boiled yet, and when he settles back against the cushions they've scattered all over the floor he looks upset, like Michael shouldn't have asked, and Michael feels abruptly bad about that.

It's funny in here, the light all dim and the room warm and something cosy about it; he feels _safe_ and that's hard to come by nowadays, and on a whim he reaches out and squeezes Ryan's knee and doesn't press the topic further, and after a minute Ryan reaches down and puts his hand over Michael's.

They don't talk about people from before again.

—

Ryan gives him things a lot.

Useless trinkets he finds while scavenging. Comic books or stuffed toys from souvenir shops or clothes.

They're fine on food, for now, there are a few places in the surrounding suburbs that haven't been picked clean yet, but a lot of it's gone off and Michael's used to it, by now, living on things that come in tins.

Ryan comes back one day with a can of coke – vending machines were the first things to get looted so it's pretty rare, and Michael's mouth starts watering on the spot.

“For you,” Ryan says, handing it over; Michael hesitates.

“Wait, really?”

“Of course,” Ryan says, looking a bit confused.

Michael frowns a bit because while he'd like to think they're friends, they actually still haven't known each other all that long at this point, and some wary part of him still thought, maybe, they were just in this for the convenience of having someone else around to help with scavenging and killing zombies.

But here Ryan is handing over a rare treat to him like it's nothing, like he doesn't even want it himself – like it's the most natural thing in the world for him to find something nice and immediately give it away.

Something rises hot and bothered in his chest. He feels almost flustered.

“We can share it,” he says then, and Ryan glances over at him. Michael's face feels too warm, like he's embarrassed, but Ryan just nods, then, very calmly.

“Okay,” he replies, and Michael pops the top of the can and when it fizzes deliciously they both laugh. He makes Ryan take the first sip and doesn't think about the warmth his lips leave on the thin metal of the can when he drinks next.

—

They get used to each other. Michael always stands to Ryan's right and doesn't have to worry about watching his own left. He takes first watch every night and Ryan takes second but there's always an hour or two when neither of them can sleep when they stay up talking about stupid things.

Ryan hums when he's in the bathroom washing himself with the cold filtered rainwater or out of a bucket if there's been a dry spell. They both sing a lot; the building's empty so they're heedless of the noise, and it's better than the silence, a silence which Michael sometimes wonders how he was able to stand for so fucking long while he was out there on his own.

It becomes habit to wake up and look around to check where Ryan is. To wait up for him on the rare occasions he leaves the apartment alone. To constantly keep note of where he is when they go out into the city. The two of them ineffably engrained into each other's daily routine.

Michael got by on his own but this, here, now, with someone else, feels so much better that he almost can't imagine losing it now that he has it. They never talk about splitting up again even if they also never talked about this becoming a permanent arrangement; it is just _assumed_ , sort of, and Michael sees Ryan looking at him too, constantly glancing across to make sure he's still around–

—

“You did _theatre?”_ Michael demands.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Ryan asks.

“It – it isn't, just. Kinda hard to get a job in that, isn't it?” Michael asks, and Ryan huffs.

“I suppose. Which is why I also went into IT. Doesn't fucking matter much now, does it?” He grins, leaning across to elbow Michael a bit. “Fat lot of good you are as an electrician now that there's _no fucking electricity_.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He can't help but grin, though. It's a funny little sliver of information about Ryan – he's been getting more and more of those recently. Stupid pointless facts that make him feel closer to the other man anyway. “You gonna bust out some Shakespeare for me then? Bet he never wrote about zombies.”

It only takes Ryan a minute before he's reciting, “ _In the most high and palmy state of Rome, a little ere the mighty Julius fell, the graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets_.”

Michael stares at him; for a minute he almost can't take the words in, lost in the rich deep cantor of Ryan's voice. Then he laughs, abruptly.

“Did you make that up just then?”

“No! It's from Hamlet,” Ryan replies, looking a bit embarrassed. “Not actually about zombies, though.”

“You're such a nerd,” Michael replies, but grins so Ryan knows he doesn't really mean it, and after a moment Ryan smiles back, something shy in it, and something very fond swells up in Michael's chest.

—

“Do you think it's strange,” Michael says one day, when they're out in the street having just dug through another of the surrounding houses for food, “That we haven't seen anyone else in this city?”

Ryan frowns a bit.

“It is kind of weird.”

“I mean, we're not that far out, and I doubt every single person here is dead. I dunno. Kinda thought there'd be other survivors here.” Michael bites his lip and Ryan looks concerned.

“Maybe they're closer towards the city centre.”

“Maybe,” Michael replies, but he's thinking of raiders now, of the violent people who travel about taking everything for themselves and killing anyone else they come across. The town seems too quiet suddenly, the two of them alone out in the road, and Ryan reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. The contact is reassuring.

“Let's head back,” he says, and Michael nods.

—

Ryan saves his life some time later. Michael gets careless – all it takes is one slip up – opens a door without thinking about it only to get jumped by a zombie waiting on the other side. It's a big guy, bigger than him, and taken by surprise he falls back under its weight. For a moment all he can see is the flash of its yellowing teeth, the dead flesh on top of him, the horrible stomach churning smell of rot that he's never quite gotten used to.

Its teeth snap inches from his face and for a moment he actually thinks he is going to die-

And then Ryan's knife drives into the thing's head, hot blood and ichor splattering across Michael's face; he screws his eyes shut, lips pressed tightly together, terrified that he's going to get it in his mouth, get infected.

Ryan pulls the body off him and Michael wipes frantically at his face, trying to get the blood off. He's shaking; it's been a long time since he had an escape that close. It's a bit of a wake up call. His heart is slamming in his chest.

Ryan grabs his hands and pulls them away from his face, stares into his eyes earnestly. He's shaking too.

“You okay?”

Michael nods and opens his mouth and tries to speak but all that comes out is “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” like he can't think of anything else to say. And then, dimly, “Thank you.”

“I've got your back,” Ryan replies, but it's rattled them both. He pulls Michael to his feet and then pulls him into a brief, awkward sort-of-hug. They haven't hugged before now but Michael can't help clinging to him for a moment – he can feel Ryan's heart slamming in his chest, as fast as his own is beating – and they stay close to each other the rest of the day and through the whole night.

—

The flat they are living in is the first time in a long time Michael's stayed in the same spot for more than about a week. And while on the one hand they're careful not to get too attached – if there's an emergency they might have to up and run at any minute – it's inevitable that it starts to feel more like a home.

They gather things. Clothes they've scavenged, weapons. But other things too. Books and pillows. He gets used to the layout of the furniture, the view from the window. Coming home to a familiar space.

They've been there some weeks – maybe months – when they start running out of things to scavenge in the surrounding areas. It's getting too hard travelling into the city and coming back – a waste of daylight – so they need to move somewhere closer.

“Kind of gonna miss this place,” Michael comments, as they pack up, taking everything they can carry.

“Me too,” Ryan says, glancing around the room. A sudden melancholy overtakes them; it feels a little like the end of an era here and Michael feels oddly uprooted in a way he didn't know he still could after so long on the road.

He forces it away and they relocate to another apartment building, close to the city centre this time. There are far more zombies about and it's hard to get there without being seen. It takes a lot longer to clear out the building.

There are signs of life here, too, and not just from before all this happened. Some of the rooms on the ground floor have abandoned camps in them. Bedding spread out on the floor, boarded up windows, empty tin cans. But whoever used to be here has left long ago.

They pick another flat on the top floor near the fire stairs but that night, as they light their little kerosene stove and settle around it as usual, Michael can't quite bring himself to miss the old place because _Ryan_ is still here, and that's what grounded him before; being together, here, it still feels like home.

—

“Are we gonna stay here?”

It's Ryan who asks, surprisingly; Michael sometimes finds it a bit hard to tell what he's thinking because he doesn't talk about their plans much.

Michael looks up. “What do you mean?”

“Here, this town – are we going to move on or are we going to stay?”

 _We_. Michael likes that, that certainty that no matter what they do, they're going to do it together.

“As long as there's shit to eat, I don't see why not,” Michael replies. “It's been fine here so far. Not too dangerous. Why? Do you want to go?”

“No, I don't mind it here,” Ryan replies. “I was just wondering. It's nice to have a plan.”

“It is,” Michael agrees, and he means it; too long it was just aimless _wandering_ , no motivation to settle down in one place but no particular destination in mind either. But he likes it here, for now, and that night for the first time he shifts over on the couch closer to Ryan – they normally stay on opposite sides – and leans into him a little, hesitantly. Ryan puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer and Michael relaxes against his side, the heavy steady rise and fall of his chest and thrum of his heartbeat against Michael's arm, and closes his eyes a bit, and thinks, for now, he has everything he needs.

—

—

They are going to fucking _die_.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_ -”

Michael chants it like a mantra as he steps back, scrambling further up the small mound of rubble, sneakers slipping on the wet surface. Two trucks and a crane smashed into the side of a small building, taking out a chunk of wall and awning, the resulting mess high enough for them to climb onto to get away from the sudden mob of zombies that had come down the street while they were scavenging.

Not high enough to be safe forever; there are bony fingers grasping at the edge of the ledge, some of them already starting to scramble their way up.

How did things go this fucking _wrong_ -

(Stupidity, that's how, overconfidence – heading too deep into the city – not checking for hordes before they did – being too noisy, getting caught by surprise, they're fucked now, they're fucking _fucked_ -)

Ryan is panting by his side. Michael glances over at him and sees that his eyes are wide and terrified. There are too many zombies – at least two dozen – swarming around their little ledge.

“There's nowhere to go.” His voice comes out high and tight – _we're going to die_ – panic a solid lead block in his chest pressing on his lungs making it hard to breathe. It's been a long time since he was this scared. “We're fucked, Ryan-”

“There.” Ryan points to the broken window of a shop nearby. “See if you can climb over to it.”  
  
Michael glances over but it's too far and the zombies are climbing up and there's no time. “I won't get to it before they-”

“You go, I'll hold them off.” It's like a line from a bad movie but there's something terrible about hearing it in real life, seeing the determination in Ryan's eyes as he pulls his knife from his belt.

Michael grabs his arm.

“No _fucking_ way, dude,” he spits – feels sick at the mere thought of leaving Ryan behind – he nearly loses his footing on the wet concrete; it rained last night and everything is deadly-slick -

A zombie pulls itself up onto the rubble and lumbers towards them and Michael spins around, ready to take it out-

Bang!

A gunshot rings out, making both of them jump a mile. Michael flinches back as the zombie crumples down away from them.

The next thing they know there's an explosion ringing out a few streets away, deafening and violent enough that Michael's ears pop and the ground shakes under them. He slips, losing his balance, and Ryan grabs him to steady him, hauling him back against his chest.

The zombies all turn, lumbering towards the source of this louder noise – they're attracted to sound, enough that they quickly forget about their other target, and Michael pants harsh breaths as he watches them walk away.

 _Gunshot_ , he realises, hazily, and feels a sudden pang of alarm.

“Someone – someone else is here,” he croaks out, clutching at Ryan's arm as he tries to get his feet back under him.

Ryan opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, another voice rings out from above them.

“Hey, assholes!”

Michael looks up. On the roof of a store nearby is a small figure. With the sun behind him Michael can't make out any of his features.

“That's bought you some time but they'll be back, get the fuck out of there!” the man hollers down. “There's a fire escape round the side of this building. Get on the roof or get eaten, your call.”

Michael and Ryan exchange startled looks, but they have little choice. Quickly they scramble down off the rubble and run across the street to the fire escape.

It's quite a way up to the roof and Michael's arms are burning by the time he pulls himself over the edge. It is _fucking hard_ to climb a ladder, man. All the running he does has given him like, fucking calves of steel but upper arm strength? Not like he exactly lifts weights nowadays. Maybe he should start doing pushups or something.

He clambers to his feet, turning to help Ryan up onto the roof behind him, then turns to find himself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“Whoah!” he says, putting his hands up, squinting at the man.

It's a young guy, younger than him. Eyes very wary behind his glasses and mop of messy dark hair. Pretty scrawny looking but seems to know exactly what he's doing with the gun.

“Hey, what the fuck, man, you told us to come up here!” Michael snaps, alarmed.

The young man stares at him a moment before nodding, swinging the gun away.

“Suppose I did,” he says, casually, then turns and looks out over the edge of the roof. Michael follows his gaze. There's a gentle plume of smoke rising lazily up from a few streets away; he squints and makes out the burning wreck of a car below.

“What the fuck did you do?” he asks.

“Shot the fuel tank, made it blow up,” the man says. “Noise attracts them. Noise and movement. Enough to get your asses out of there. You're welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says, gently. “It would have been easy to leave us. I'm Ryan, and this is Michael.”

“Dude,” Michael exclaims, a bit alarmed, but he supposes it doesn't really matter if the guy knows their names.

The man takes them both in for a moment then shrugs. “I'm Ray. Seen you guys about.”

“What?” Ryan asks.

Ray nods down towards the streets. “Seen you two. Scavenging. I tend to stay up on the roofs – rifle's better at long distance.”

“You're the first person we've seen here,” Michael says, a bit disconcerted by the thought of this guy watching them this whole time, silent, unseen.

Ray shrugs. “You're the newest in town. There's a bunch of us, scattered around here. Little groups of people. Some on their own, like me. No one really talks to each other. This place is big enough that we don't run into each other all that much.”

“You're alone out here?” Ryan asks, and Ray nods, something defensive in it.

“Yeah. Why?”

“No reason,” Ryan replies. “I was for a time. Michael too. You don't want to join up with any other survivors?”

“Why, you offering?” There's something almost mocking in Ray's tone now, like this is a sore spot for him.

“No,” Michael replies coolly. “Just curious.”

“I work better alone.” Ray looks down at the street again, the dead milling below. “Like I said. Noise and movement. So a big group is a no go.” He points down over the edge of the roof. “On their own, it's easy to kill 'em. One zombie's not a threat. It's when they get together in a group – a mob – that's when things get messy. Get _dangerous_.” He turns towards them, eyes hard, looking much older than he probably is. “It's the same thing with people.”

Michael and Ryan exchange another glance, nodding mutely.

“I getcha,” Michael says, quietly. “It's just the two of us.”

“Looks like most others are the same way,” Ray says then. “The biggest group in this town has four.”

“You're all near the city centre?” Ryan asks.

Ray nods. “You've been lucky so far. It's slim pickings around the suburbs. You're gonna have to push further in soon. And you won't get far without guns. Too many zombies. You can't kill them all close range.”

“Where'd you get that, then?” Michael asks, nodding at the rifle.

“Found it. Not around here. Ammo is the big problem.” Ray looks torn for a moment, then says, “You guys seem decent, so I'll give you a hint. The police station on the other end of town hasn't been hit yet. You might find something there.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says again, and Ray flaps a hand.

“Don't mention it. Don't know how you've survived this long without guns, to be honest. Anyway, it's getting dark. I should be off.”

“Where do you live?” Michael asks, without really thinking about it.

Ray shoots him a sidelong glance. He's closing off a bit now, Michael realises – seems to be retreating back into himself. Like when he first met them he was startled by the human contact but is now realising that he doesn't know them, can't trust them.

“I think it's better if we stay out of each other's way,” he says then. “Like I said. I work better on my own.”

“Fair enough,” Ryan replies. “Thanks, again.” He holds his hand out and Ray eyes it for a moment before hesitantly grasping it. Ryan shakes firmly before letting go. He's smiling, ever charming, the same smile that had Michael trusting him so easily. Ray's lips twitch up a bit before he turns away, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

Ryan and Michael turn away, tracking a route back across the city to their flat. Michael's stomach feels tight, oddly nervous at running into this stranger, at this confirmation that they are, indeed, not alone in this town. He's not quite sure how he feels about that.

—

“We almost died today,” he says quietly, that night, Ryan breathing softly beside him. He knows the other man isn't asleep.

Ryan rolls over on the couch to face him.

“That shit you said,” Michael continues. “To go on and leave you behind? Don't fucking do that again. I don't know what sort of fucking hero complex you have but – don't pull that shit, okay?”

Ryan gives him a measuring look and something squirms in Michael's stomach. He isn't sure why. But Ryan doesn't argue, and after a minute he gives a small nod.

“Okay,” he says, solemnly. “Okay."

Michael forces a quick, nervous smile and turns to look back out the window, keeping watch. Ryan is silent behind him but after a minute he gets up off the couch and goes and makes Michael a cup of hot tea.

—

They head out to the police station a week later, at night. It's a perilous journey that involves sneaking through a bunch of zombie-heavy areas, but they get there without conflict. It's very dark, a cloudy night with no moon, and they're relying on their torches as they head in through a back door of the station.

“Where would weapons be kept?” Michael whispers. His voice sounds too loud in the silent darkness.

“No damn idea,” Ryan replies, equally bewildered. “I've never really been in a police station before.”

They're in the back, a small area of holding cells. Michael figures there must be an armoury or a storage room or _something._ All is silent and he figures maybe there're no zombies actually inside. Their footsteps seem deafening as they head towards the door leading to the rest of the building; it's a big station, the biggest in the city.

They're moving quietly down a corridor when Michael hears it; a footfall and shuffling about from nearby. He freezes, holding up a hand to stop Ryan too.

There's a crash like something knocked off a desk in a room nearby.

“Bollocks,” a man's voice says. English.

“God _damn it_ , Gavin.” A different voice. “There's fucking biters in here, be quiet won't you?”

“Sorry.”

' _We're not alone_ ,' Ryan mouths – Michael nods frantically, unsure what to do – thinking they should maybe get out, try again later – only for both of them to stop startled when a door down the corridor opens and two men emerge. They see the torchlight immediately and turn towards them – their own flashlights falling on Michael and making him squint, throwing up a hand – he can already see the larger of the two figures raising a gun-

“Don't shoot! We're not zombies!” Ryan says quickly.

There's a snort from the guy with a gun. “Of course you're not. They don't use flashlights.”

“We're just here looking for supplies,” Ryan replies. “Don't mean you any harm.”

For a long, tense moment they're left standing, staring at each other in the harsh torchlight. Michael takes in the two men – the taller one really is very, _very_ tall, and stocky, with a beard. Michael's not one to be intimidated but a big guy pointing a gun at him? Anyone would be shitting their pants. His friend has a beard too but he's more slender, cuts less of a threatening figure. Is holding himself awkwardly; he has a pistol clutched in his hand too but it's not raised. His eyes wide and white in the darkness.

“Burnie,” the little one – Gavin? – says quietly after a minute, putting a hand on his friend's arm. “You can't shoot them. The biters will hear.”

“Where'd you guys come in?” Burnie demands, in a hushed whisper.

“Door near the holding cells,” Ryan replies. He sounds very calm but Michael is freaking out internally. Zombies are one thing but even that can't compare to the sheer terror of having a gun pointed at you, especially now that there's no hospitals to go to, no doctors left.

“Any biters out there?”

“No,” Michael snaps, fear coming out as irritation. “None we saw. Some in the street, not near the building.”

The gun finally lowers and he sucks in a gasping breath, scowling at the man. Burnie is frowning a bit.

“There's heaps out the front,” he says, quietly. “Some in the building, too, but they’re all locked off in one other section. We don't want them to know we're here or they'll break the door down to get to us. So be fucking quiet, won't you?”

Michael nods and the man's face softens a bit. He steps forward, hand outstretched.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You don't look like raiders.”

The apology is unexpected and Michael's startled enough to feel mollified.

“We're not,” Ryan replies, and Burnie nods.

“Right. Neither are we. Burnie, by the way, that's Gavin.”

“Ryan, Michael,” Ryan says. “We're just here for guns.”

“You'll want the armoury. Two of our friends are there already, getting more ammo. I'm sure there's enough for both of us.”

It's a remarkably selfless attitude. Bullets are precious in this world, guns too, and most people wouldn't be nearly so willing to share, not without something in return. Michael frowns, immediately suspicious – surely he can't be as nice a guy as that – but there's something open and honest in Burnie's face.

“That's weirdly generous of you,” Michael says, and Burnie grins a bit.

“Hey, you'll owe us a good turn.” He jerks his head down the corridor. “Down the stairs, second to the left- that's the armoury.”

“The others are still in there. They might get alarmed if those two show up alone,” Gavin speaks up.

“They'll be fine,” Burnie starts, but Gavin shakes his head.

“Gus can be trigger happy. Give him a shock and he'll shoot first, ask questions later.”

Michael rather does not like the sound of that, but Gavin's already stepping forward.

“You keep looking for the keys, Burnie, I'll take them down there.”

Burnie's frown deepens, reaching out to catch at Gavin's shoulder. “Sure you're alright to go with them alone?”

“I've got a gun,” Gavin points out. “They don't.”

“We are right here you know,” Michael says, a bit put out, but it fades a little when Gavin looks over at him with a small smile.

“Hard to trust people nowadays,” he replies. “I'm sure you know that. Come on, I'll take you down.”

“Be careful, Gavvo,” Burnie says, but watches them leave.

There's an odd tense tightness in Michael's stomach. This group is bigger than theirs and they have more firepower; he doesn't know what to make of things. Ryan doesn't seem to either.

“Four of you then?” Ryan asks quietly, as they head down the corridor. Michael remembers Ray telling them about this bigger group.

Gavin nods, glancing over at them nervously. His shoulders are very tense and Michael realises that he's as wary of them as they are of him.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Just the two of you?”

“Yeah,” Michael says. And then, curiously, “You're English.”

“I am aware,” Gavin says drily.

“Long way from home,” Michael comments, but Gavin's shoulders just stiffen further.

“Doesn't matter much now.”

“Sorry,” Michael says, feeling bad for obviously touching a nerve – but Gavin doesn't seem to hold it against him; he smiles again, his upset fading as suddenly as it arrived.

“S'fine. Haven't seen you two before! Although we don't run into many survivors around here.”

“We've only been here a few months,” Ryan says. “Stuck to the suburbs mostly, although we've been forced into the city lately. Hence why we need the guns.”

Gavin nods. There's something oddly flighty about him, Michael can't help but notice. They're all moving ridiculously carefully, practically tiptoeing along the corridor so as not to be too noisy, but Gavin seems particularly on edge. Nervous the way Michael was nervous at the very start of all this, when zombies were a novelty and not something he had to routinely kill. Nervous like he's still not quite used to the danger.

They reach the armoury and Gavin calls out, quietly, when they get there.

“Guys, it's me. There's some others with me.”

They step into the room to the light of two other torches; another incredibly tall man and a blonde woman. Both of them armed.

“Who are _they_?” the man demands. He steps forward, staring down at Michael, who scowls back up at him. The man's eyebrows are particularly ferocious, great dark bristling things that seem as poised to attack as the man himself is. Michael is immediately wary.

“Relax, Gus,” Gavin says, stepping up to him. “Just other scavengers. Burnie said it's fine if they take some guns.”

“Fucking sharing our resources with anyone who comes along, is he?” Gus asks, but there's no malice in it and he steps back, gun lowering. It seems these people really aren't hostile, and Michael feels a little of the tension leach from his shoulders. “Help yourself, then.”

“New survivors?” The girl steps up to them, eyes bright and curious. “I'm Barbara.”

They introduce themselves but Michael really just wants to be in and out of there as soon as possible. He quickly moves over to one of the safes. There's a pistol inside, he has no idea what sort, and he takes it, moving to gather ammo, Ryan doing the same on the other side of the room. The other three stand watching them curiously until, after a minute, Gus stirs.

“Gonna go look around, check to make sure those biters haven't broken through.”

“Gus,” Gavin starts up. There's panic in his voice and Michael glances over at him curiously, just in time to see him step forward and grab Gus' elbow when he tries to leave.

Gus gently pulls his hand away from his sleeve. “It's fine, Gavin. I'll be back.”

There's something funny in the look on Gavin's face, something very worried, and Barbara steps forward and rubs his shoulder.

“I'll go with him, Gav. Meet Burnie back upstairs when you're done here.”

Gavin is very quiet a moment, then he gives a jerking nod. Barbara's hand runs down his back before she follows Gus out; Michael's eyes track the movement, the way Gavin slumps back against the wall after.

“You okay?” he asks quietly – Gavin's gone all tense again, and his eyes snap over to him before he nods again.

“Fine,” he replies, and then shakes himself, taking a few deep breaths.

“Fine,” he repeats, more firmly, when he looks up at them. “You nearly done? I want to get back to Burnie.”

“Almost,” Michael says. He turns the gun over in his hands. He's never held one before. It's heavier than he expected. He realises that he has no fucking idea what he's doing, and hears Gavin give a soft snort next to him.

“Never used one before?”

Michael scowls, unwilling to admit it, but Gavin steps forward then, his own pistol held out ahead of him.

“It's pretty simple. Point and click. Just like a camera. Takes some practice but you'll get used to it.” He reaches out and pokes at Michael's shoulder and Michael yelps, affronted, but Gavin just tilts his head a bit.

“Nice biceps. Kickback shouldn't hit you too hard.”

“Personal space, man,” Michael says, stepping back; Gavin just grins at him, mischievously.

“Seriously, though. You get used to it.” He glances at Ryan, who's picked up a shotgun and seems to know exactly what he's doing. “ _You_ don't look like you need any help."

“I've done some shooting before. Recreationally,” Ryan adds, at Gavin's rather alarmed look.

Gavin nods. “Right. Well, like I said. You get used to it.”

“You have any experience before all – this?” Michael says, waving a hand about a bit vaguely as though to encompass this whole situation, the fucking apocalypse and all.

Gavin shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “No. But you figure it out. You do what you have to to survive. Not like I'd ever stabbed someone in the bloody head either. But I've done that too.” A wry smile. “Prefer the gun. You don't have to get close.”

“Big group you've got yourself,” Michael comments, working out the safety of the gun before shoving it in his belt. “That has to help. Safety in numbers or whatever. As long as you're careful about the noise.”

“Yeah, it's good,” Gavin says. “We're... close. We work well together.” He looks suddenly nervous again though, almost shaken, like something's worrying him.

“Hey,” Ryan says gently. He steps over to Gavin and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You can relax, okay? We're not gonna try anything. We're not like that, both of us left groups when people started getting... bad.”

Gavin stares at him for a moment. Then he lets out a little scoffing laugh.

“It's not that, God, sorry. I'm not scared of you, that's not why I... why I'm on edge. I just... don't like being out here. At night. But thanks,” he adds, and straightens up a bit. When he smiles this time it's more genuine, something oddly sweet in it.

Ryan smiles back and Michael watches them, something strange squirming in his gut. Ryan's like that, he knows. Always so gentle and reassuring. Was like that with him, too, at the start, and here he is now showing that same tenderness with Gavin, rubbing his shoulder for a moment before pulling back.

Despite what he said, Ryan's actions seem to have reassured Gavin a bit; he's much more relaxed when they head back up the stairs. Still something faintly nervous in his actions, but he starts telling them all about Barbara and how she's fucking awful with a gun but a beast with a knife – some stupid story about the first time they found proper weapons and all the funny incidents as they figured out how to actually use them – he manages to make it sound much more humorous than it probably actually was, something so animated in his voice that Michael can't help but get caught up in it, listening with rapt attention.

“-and that's why they don't like us,” he finishes – something about some other group of survivors they ran into. “So we can't trade with them. Oh, speaking of trade, you guys want to engage in a little exchanging of goods and services?”

“What have you got to offer?” Michael asks.

A slow grin spreads across Gavin's face.

“Booze,” he says, and Michael's face must light up comically because Gavin _laughs_ at him then, a funny hushed squeaking laugh like he's trying not to be too loud.

Ryan lets out a little huff of amusement as well.

“Fuck yes,” Michael says. “What do you want in return?"

“You guys have any drugs?” Gavin asks, and the two of them stop short, alarmed.

“Dude,” Michael says, stomach sinking a bit. “We're not that sort of-”

“What?” Gavin asks, glancing at them. “No, not that sort of drugs. Christ. Like, medicine. Antibiotics and painkillers and stuff. Most of the pharmacies here are already picked clean.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Yeah, we have some, but...”

He trails off. That stuff is _valuable_ and not something they want to be giving away, especially in exchange for just alcohol. He glances at Ryan and finds an oddly considering look on his face and it hits Michael, then, that Burnie could easily have run them out of here and taken all the guns for himself.

Kindness begets kindness, or what fucking ever; he sees it written all over Ryan's face as well before Ryan nods.

“We can arrange a trade,” he says, and Gavin smiles a bit.

“Top,” he says.

“Gav,” a voice hisses; they've reached upstairs and Burnie is walking towards them now, swinging a set of keys around his finger. “Found the keys. We can leave through the garage. Where are the others?”

“Went down to check on the biters,” Gavin replies, but as if on cue Gus and Barbara return up the stairs.

“Still quiet down there,” Gus reports. “Let's get the fuck out of here before that changes, though.”

Burnie nods. He turns to Ryan and Michael. “You guys have what you need? Good. We're leaving out the side to avoid the worst of them. If you live on the east end of town you can come with.”

They nod, and follow along. It's weird being in such a large cluster of people again; Michael's gotten used to it being just him and Ryan, a little pair moving silently on their own. While there's a risk of making more noise, drawing more attention, he also feels oddly safer with so many people at his back.

They get out with little trouble, into the dark dim streets, heading away from the zombie-flooded area around the police station until they're in a quieter suburban area.

They all relax as soon as they're safe, grinning around at each other in relief. Gavin explains about the trade and the others agree eagerly; both their home bases are in the same direction so they start walking together, discussing where they'll meet.

Michael can tell immediately that the four of them really are close. Despite how stressed they all seemed in the police station, they're bright and cheerful now, outside of it.

For all his intimidating size Burnie is the friendliest of the lot of them, inquiring further about Michael and Ryan but never prying. There's something protective in the way he hovers around Barbara and Gavin, keeping a constant eye on them. Gavin livelier now that they're away from the station, striking up some stupid conversation with Barbara and Gus that has all of them laughing.

There's a camaraderie between the four of them that's infectious even as they encourage Ryan and Michael to join in. It's not too awkward, even if they don't know each other well yet, only a little stilted distance between them, and he doesn't realise until they break apart to go their own way down different streets with plans to meet the next day – he misses _people_ , even if he doesn't want to be part of a big group and all the problems that come with it. Variety is the spice of life, or what fucking ever. He's content with Ryan but he's missed just seeing other faces, hearing other voices. Other laughs.

“They seemed nice,” Ryan says, when they get back home.

“A lot of people _seem_ nice,” Michael points out – still can't let his guard down, much as he wants to – but he's still smiling, and he can tell it refreshed Ryan too, meeting new people.

—

They meet the others on a rooftop the next day. It's bright and sunny and they look so much different here in the daytime than they did in the dimly lit shadows of the police station. Any menace he'd assigned to them washed away by the sunlight and their smiles.

“Brought your booze,” Burnie says, pulling out a canvas bag that clinks with bottles inside. “But we, ah, brought some extra too.”

“Extra?” Michael asks, a little confused.

Gavin's already popping the top off a beer. He seems entirely recovered from whatever stress overcame him last night, grinning widely as he takes a swig from the bottle. “It's a nice day. Nice company. Thought we could get bevved!”

Michael glances at Ryan, who looks similarly befuddled. He turns back towards the others, eyes narrowing a bit suspiciously, but they seem entirely genuine – even a little nervous – and he realises then that maybe last night was good for them too, seeing new faces. That they just want to hang out here and forget, for a bit, that the world is what it is.

It _is_ a nice day, and it's safe on this roof, so he shrugs and holds out a hand for a beer.

“Why the fuck not.”

They hang out and drink under the sun, talking and laughing wildly as they please, too high up for the walkers below to even dream of getting to them. It's good to unwind and it's better to laugh. The alcohol is an added thrill, one Michael hasn't had in too long.

“ _Gavin_ ,” Barbara squawks when his beer foams up and he holds it out near her to avoid getting dripped on; she laughs, swatting at him, and Gavin laughs back, high and cheeky before dancing to sit at the edge of the roof.

Ryan's talking with Burnie and Gus; Michael moves to join the other two. They're playing a stupid game where Gavin points out zombies down below and asks Barbara if she'd bang them, were they still living, inviting her to rate them out of ten, both of them laughing and making terrible crude jokes. A lightness to them that Michael appreciates when he moves to join in.

(“What's the saddest thing you've seen since this all started?” Barbara asks at one point, the closest they get to heavy conversation amidst a sea of terrible puns and dick jokes.

“A _crashed Aston Martin_ ,” Gavin cries, mournfully, before Michael can cast his mind back to everything else he's seen, empty baby seats and limp bodies still holding guns to their own heads and little undead children. It takes his mind off it and he chuckles, and takes another drink, and lets himself float away on Barbara's musical laugh and the way Gavin darts little glances over at him as if seeking his approval.)

The older men join them a little later, and it's such a relief to just _talk_ to people, whether it's sharing stories – hyping them up for dramatic or humorous effect – or Gavin's stupid hypothetical questions, or swapping information about which places in the city they've already wiped clean. Conversations about television shows they'll never watch again. They’re not fool enough to get drunk but they're all relaxed, more than they'd usually ever be-

Barbara is very beautiful, Michael realises after a while, in an oddly detached way as he watches her sitting swinging her legs on the ledge near the edge of the roof, her hair practically glowing in the sunlight, throwing her head back, laughing, face a little flushed.

His gaze turns to Gavin, who he clicked with during the course of the afternoon. The guy is an idiot and sort of a piece of shit; he poked a lot of fun at Michael's attempts with the gun and made some rather dickish comments about various celebrities during their conversation without seeming to realise just how mean they actually were. But he's very _funny_ , and has a curious sort of charm that Michael is attracted to. Watching him now he thinks the sunlight suits him too. His eyes crinkling when he grins at something Barbara says.

For some reason Michael assumes the two of them are together. They have a closeness to them, sitting right up next to each other. Smiling. Teasing. They look good, he thinks vaguely, they suit each other well, a matching set of slim golden-haired gods, in stark contrast to the ugliness of the swarming dead down below. Michael's not drunk but he's just inebriated enough that the two of them take on some strange, shining supernatural quality to him, like something out of this world-

And there is Ryan, Ryan who Michael's gaze always unconsciously drifts back to. He's a bit quieter, shy around these new people, but he's smiling gently at something Gus is telling him, arms folded in a way that pulls his sleeves tight around the definition of his arms. He's had a little to drink and is less tense than he usually is – he has trouble sleeping, Michael knows, which always has him a little on edge with exhaustion – and seeming him relaxed, smiling gently, makes Michael smile too and something grow fuzzy in his stomach.

He wonders, abruptly, if Ray is watching them out there somewhere. A big boisterous group having _fun_. If he is on the outside looking in, alone.

—

When they break apart that evening there is something a little sombre in it. There is no talk of them joining the larger group; Michael thinks he made it quite clear that they do better just the two of them and Burnie doesn't offer. Michael doesn't think he wants to join them, really, because they look close, sure. And today was fun.

But it's always like that at first, it always seems fine. That only makes it hurt more when they eventually fall apart, and he can already see it, a bit. How jumpy Gavin was last night. How Gus wanders off sometimes, to take a leak or get more beer or go have a look around the rest of the building without telling the others – how Burnie shoots him warning glances when he does. The lack of communication there. Little quips about Barbara wasting ammo that have a bit too much irritation behind them.

They're not perfect and maybe they're not going to hold and he's not going to risk being there when things do go down badly. But he did enjoy today, and when Burnie says “Maybe we'll see you guys around,” he smiles, and nods, and replies, “I'd like that.”

It's Gavin who catches his wrist when they get down to street level, ready to leave.

“Be careful out there Michael,” he says, almost fondly, and Michael can't help but feel a bit touched.

“You too Gavin,” he replies, and Gavin smiles a little, but there's that worried shadow behind his eyes the same as in the police station when Gus and Barbara went off together, and something seems, suddenly, very familiar about the look – like Michael's seen it somewhere before all this – but he can't quite work out where, and Gavin leaves along with the others.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a/n:** this turned out so differently to what I planned aha. Not sure if I like what happened with the style but by this point I've written enough that I'm committed oops. Jack and Geoff show up next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

There are things Michael and Ryan don't talk about. Bad things.

The first time they killed an undead. The first time they killed an undead who was someone they _knew_. The groups they were in before this. What, exactly, was the breaking point that caused them to leave.

Michael feels better now, here with Ryan. Their little existence of going out and scavenging and reading and talking and making something like _normalcy_ out of this all.

But it's still there, the anger, brewing under his skin, towards all the shit he's seen people do _._ It's damaged him, he thinks, because he considers the possibility of all the survivors left in the world coming back together and can't see any possible way that it would ever work out, that humanity could unite to fix the shithole that the world's become. Like it's better, so much better, for people to stay away from each other. He's never been a pessimist but God is it hard for him to trust _people_ now. Anyone apart from Ryan.

He never asks Ryan if he's killed another human before, for any reason. He himself hasn't. Assumes Ryan hasn't either.

Is, somewhere deep inside, terrified that maybe he has, but doesn't want to think about it, clinging desperately to the last shred of trust he has in this world.

—

Michael fires a gun for the first time and misses.

“Steady,” Ryan says.

He tries again. Misses, again, though the bullet grazes the shoulder of the slowly lumbering dead man, with enough force to spin him around a bit. Michael takes a deep breath and focuses and wills his hand to stop shaking.

 _Aim for the head_. He's known it since the start, with the confidence of 100 issues of The Walking Dead behind him, a cliché that proved true very quickly. _You have to aim for the head_.

He fires. The zombie falls. Another is coming quickly up behind it though. His hand is shaking worse now, from the strain of the kickback of the gun against his shoulder.

A warm body moves up behind him and the next thing he knows Ryan's hands are on his shoulders, standing so close his chest is practically pressed against Michael's back. His hands run down Michael's arms to clasp over his around the gun, holding them still until they stop shaking.

“Steady,” he says again, his voice a low thrum vibrating through his chest.

Michael can hardly breathe, suddenly intoxicated by how close he is. The low growl of the approaching zombie snaps him back to attention. Ryan's hands fall away from his and he fires.

The zombie falls. He hears Ryan laugh behind him. His heart is pounding in his chest, hard and frantic against his ribcage.

—

—

“Michael,” Ryan says.

Michael doesn't need to look at him to know what he means. He spins around and shoots the zombie that was stumbling from a doorway a few metres away from them. It crumples to the floor, a bullet neatly in his head. In the wake of the gunshots the street falls still and silent around them.

“That wasn't fun,” Michael comments. They try not to shoot unless they really have to; the sound attracts too much attention, but here in the city centre there are too many zombies to take them all down by hand.

Ryan nods, jumping down from the fallen truck they were shooting atop of. He wanders over to the zombie Michael killed and stares impassively down at it.

“What?” Michael asks, coming up next to him. “It's dead. My aim's improved, asshole.”

“Rule two double tap,” Ryan says cheekily, just because he _knows_ it will piss Michael off.

Michael scowls, letting himself rise to the bait without malice.

“I'll double tap _you_ ,” he snaps back. Ryan stares at him for a moment before breaking down laughing, but for a moment something like a smirk had played at his lips and Michael huffs, rolling his eyes and trying to ignore the way heat's risen to his face. “Laugh it up, wanker. We have limited ammo-”

Terrified screams break through the silence and they both freeze, spinning around. It's a woman's voice, coming from a few streets away, and they exchange a startled glance.

Zombies don't scream.

It's a survivor – someone in trouble – and Michael sees the determination in Ryan's eyes moments before he turns and starts jogging. Michael runs after him, keeping pace. They sprint around the block and turn into a main road where they skid to a stop.

There's a mob in the street and Michael grabs Ryan's arm, yanking him back against the wall of the nearest building to avoid being seen. A massive horde of zombies, packed body to body along the road, shuffling in from the city centre. They're moving slowly, the way they always do, but there's so many of them, and a shiver of dread crawls down Michael's spine.

He can still hear the screams – coming from further down the road – but there's no way they can get to whoever it is. Michael looks around frantically – sees a cafe nearby with a rooftop patio that runs along the road. He points, and Ryan follows his gaze before nodding.

They run inside. It's dark and smells like sour milk in the cafe building. There are two zombies slumped behind the counter that Michael dispatches with his knife even as Ryan runs up to the roof. He follows, the two of them breaking out into the daylight.

It's terrible up here, he can see the extent of the mob stretching out along the road. He doesn’t think he's ever seen that many zombies in one place before. It'll be hard to get back to their flat with so many around.

“There,” Ryan points.

There's a middle aged woman down on the road. She's running, stumbling, nearly tripping over her own feet as she struggles to get away from the horde. But there are zombies closing in from the other streets, too, and nowhere for her to go. She's surrounded.

“What can we do?” Michael asks, desperately. He raises his gun but there's only so many zombies they can pick off before they run out of ammo.

Ryan's eyes are scanning frantically over the area, like he thinks something will appear. Some door or escape route that they can guide the woman to – but there's nothing, nothing but masses of dead closing in around her.

“There has to be something,” Ryan mutters, something frantic in his tone. “There has to be _something_ -”

One of the zombies lurches towards the woman – she's unarmed – Michael lifts his gun and fires, misses, fires again and takes it down. Her eyes snap up and she spies them on the roof. For a moment they stare at each other. Michael can see exactly how terrified she is and for a horrifying moment he realises that he is going to watch her die and he can't do a fucking thing about it-

“Up here!” a voice shouts behind them.

Both he and Ryan whip around in time to see two other men bursting from the cafe doors up onto the roof. They're waving guns and Michael and Ryan start back in alarm, their own weapons rising, but the two men just shove past them to look out over the railing at the woman below.

Michael stares at them, confused about where they suddenly sprang from. One's about Ryan's age, a big guy with a ginger beard, the other one older, scruffier, with sleepy eyes and a funny moustache.

“Out of the way,” Moustache says, pushing Ryan aside. “There she is, Jack.”

Beard – or Jack, apparently – is frowning, surveying the situation. Michael and Ryan stand back and Michael has no idea who the fuck these two guys are but he's abruptly relieved that someone else has taken control of things.

“Do you know her?” Ryan demands.

“No,” Moustache snaps. His head is whipping from side to side as he scans the swarmed roads below. “We heard the screams. Fuck. There's nowhere for her to go.”

He looks up and exchanges a strange look with Jack that Michael doesn't quite know the meaning of. Then he lifts his gun and Michael frowns, wondering what the hell he's about to do and-

He fires. The woman falls to the ground dead and for a moment Michael's mind goes white-blank with shock.

“You killed her!” The words rip out from him like he can't control them and the next thing he knows he's raising his own gun, alarm bells ringing at the back of his mind because _they killed somebody, they shot a woman right in front of us-_

He steps in front of Ryan defensively and the two men spin around and stare at him. When they realise he's pointing a pistol at them they raise their own guns.

“Hey, chill,” Moustache says, warningly. “What the fuck's your problem?”

“You just killed that woman,” Michael snaps.

“Michael,” Ryan starts.

Michael ignores him. “Put your guns down,” he orders. His voice is shaking a little.

“Michael,” Moustache repeats, glancing at Ryan over Michael's shoulder. “We killed her because there was nothing else we could do. There was no way out of it. No way to save her. Tell me if you were down there about to be ripped to shreds and fucking eaten alive you wouldn't want someone to put a bullet in your skull and end it quickly. Painlessly.”

Michael swallows. His throat hurts. His head hurts. His eyes dart down over the edge of the roof and he sees it, the mob swarming forward to feast on the woman's corpse. He drags his gaze back over to Moustache and sees something earnest and pleading in his eyes.

Jack has lowered his gun.

“Michael,” Ryan says again, and reaches out and puts a hand on his wrist. Slowly he pushes his arm down and Michael lets him. Ryan doesn't let go of his arm, though, keeps his hand curled around it in a loose reassuring grip.

Moustache lets out a shaky breath, relieved the gun's off him.

“Bad start,” he says quietly. “I'm Geoff. That's Jack.”

“I'm Ryan,” Ryan says. “You... you did what you had to, just then. If I'd had a second longer to think I might have done the same thing.”

He's talking to Geoff but looking at Michael when he says it, and as the haze of panic and adrenaline clears, he realises the truth of it. That this wasn't an act of violence but of mercy. He looks up and meets Ryan's eyes – there's a raw urgency in them and Michael bites his lip. _Ryan trusts them. And I trust Ryan_.

Geoff and Jack are watching him carefully and when he looks up and forces a smile the two of them relax a little.

“You guys on your own out here?” Geoff asks.

Ryan nods.

“Us too,” Geoff says. “Don't like the look of that horde. It's right where we wanted to go.”

“Why are there so many of them?” Michael asks, getting his voice back.

“Out on the roads,” Jack explains, quietly, “In the countryside, there's no food for them. So they're moving, forming mobs. Heading to towns and cities. They came from outside and it's only going to get worse here.”

“Fucking doomy and gloomy over here,” Michael mutters. He can't deny the truth of it, though, he's seen mobs form before. “Think it'll pass through?”

“I hope so,” Geoff says, tugging at the end of his moustache. “Otherwise we'll be holed up indoors for a bit.”

There's a moment of glum silence.

Geoff nods towards Michael's gun, hanging in his hand by his side.

“Some people would be trying to kill us right now,” he comments.

“We're not some people,” Ryan replies, carefully.

“Huh,” Geoff says. “Apparently not. I mean, there's room in this town for everyone. But we've seen our share of raiders. Wankers who, like, think that anyone else who's alive is taking up resources they could be using themselves. Assholes, am I right? You don't look like that, though.”

“Because we're not,” Michael says.

Geoff hums. “Good. Like I said. There's room here for everybody. Be seeing you, then.”

He tugs at Jack's sleeve and starts towards the cafe doors again.

“Wait,” Michael cuts in, a bit confused. “Where are you going? How are you gonna get out? The street down there is flooded!”

Geoff grins. “Oh, we know a fuckload of ways to move around here without getting seen by the zombies. The sewers, the rooftops, through buildings – we've been here long enough.”

Ryan and Michael glance at each other, hesitating. Michael has no idea how they themselves are gonna get back to their flat, not with the number of undead out there. Jack's the one to take pity on them, stepping forward after a moment with a soft sigh.

“Where are you headed?” he asks, kindly.

They glance at each other again. Michael's not quite sure he wants two strangers to know where they sleep and store their supplies. But they have little other choice, and after a minute Ryan comes out with their address.

“Yeah, we can get you there,” Geoff says easily, and heads off.

They follow after him, a bit awkwardly, but Michael's reassured when Jack comes up next to him with a small but genuinely friendly smile.

“You came to help that woman,” Jack says. “Most people would have left her. Bait for the herd.”

“You came to help her too,” Michael says, and realises that's probably the number one sign that these are halfway decent people, at least.

Geoff and Jack's route involves going back down through the cafe and crossing a narrow empty alley into another building, from which they travel through windows. The two of them, it seems, have set up a number of routes around the city. Rope ladders and wood plank bridges that let them travel from building to building without ever having to touch the ground. The buildings themselves have been cleared out already, making them quite safe. It's a much faster way to travel than Ryan and Michael's method of sneaking about trying to avoid any roads with more than a dozen zombies on them.

As they travel Geoff and Jack proceed to engage in a startlingly domestic discussion about what they're going to have for dinner.

“I'm telling you it's gone off,” Jack insists.

“It's fucking _instant mash_! It's designed to _not_ go off!”

“Everything has an expiry date. If it's real potato it'll be all rotten and shit by now.”

“It's not real potato. It's weird, instant potato. How the fuck would you turn a real live potato into powder?! But fine, if you don't want to eat it then don't. More for me.”

They're bickering _literally_ like an old married couple and Ryan and Michael glance at each other, Michael pulling a slightly confused face; he still has zero idea who these two guys are at all, only that they're apparently quite clever and have a good store of food.

“You're an asshole,” Jack says finally, after Geoff moves into a five minute tirade about Jack's intelligence and things that it is not possible to do with vegetables. There's nothing but fondness in his tone, though, and Geoff grins.

“Maybe, but you love me,” he says, and when Jack smiles back at him there's something too soft in it – _love me_ , the words hanging too gentle in the air between them.

 _Wait, they're together?_ Michael opens his mouth to blurt out this observation only to bite it back. It shouldn't be as surprising as it is. Just because he's been alone, after all, doesn't mean everyone else has.

Jack and Geoff take them out to the edge of their suburb. No funny business at all, and while Michael doesn't trust them, per se, he's also not very worried.

“Where do you guys live?” he asks.

They exchange a glance then seem to decide it can do little harm to let them know.

“Tower up over there,” Geoff says, pointing back towards the city. “Nice and high. Pretty safe.”

No invitation to join them there, Michael notices, which is probably for the best.

“Later then, neighbours,” Geoff says, with a half-salute, and both Ryan and Michael wave a bit awkwardly as they watch them saunter back off down the road, unsure if this means they're allies now or what.

—

“What did you think of those guys?” Michael asks Ryan later that night.

It's something that's been nagging at him for a little while, since they met Ray, and later, Burnie's group. Michael knows that he himself doesn't trust people, but he isn't quite sure just how much _Ryan_ does. If Burnie or any of the others offered to let them join their group – would Ryan want to? Michael had said he was done with big groups. Ryan hadn't made that same vow.

Ryan chews his lips thoughtfully.

“I don't know,” he says, finally.

“Real fucking helpful, Ry.” Michael flops back against the couch beside him and Ryan automatically drops an arm down across his shoulders.

“It's true though. They did help that woman – or tried to – they didn't seem bad. But it's hard to tell nowadays. I'd like to think they're alright.”

Michael lets out a soft sigh and leans his head into Ryan's shoulder, trying to puzzle it out himself. Ryan seems to be thinking hard as well.

“I wouldn't rely on them,” he adds, eventually, looking down at Michael. “The only person I'd rely on is you.”

Michael stares up at him – there's a fond sort of smile playing at his lips and Michael starts to smile back but suddenly he can't get the memory of Geoff and Jack out of his head, how they'd looked at each other like that too, and his mouth feels suddenly try, his heart quickening a little as he shifts to get more comfortable against Ryan's side, letting his gaze slide away.

—

—

“I'm fine,” Ray says.

Michael pulls a face at him. “You're bleeding all over me and you can't stand up, that sure as fuck doesn't seem fine to me.”

He and Ryan had been scavenging around a small shopping district when they heard the gunshots and went to investigate, entering a small parking area between a cluster of buildings.

Ray was scrambling backwards across the asphalt, a backpack strewn on the ground beside him, a thick streak of blood staining the ground under his left leg. His hair caught in the grasp of a zombie crushed half-under one of the cars as it struggled to drag him back, to get its teeth close enough to his face to bite. His gun was on the ground beside him, a knife in one hand, but he couldn't move his arm at the right angle to get any sort of solid hit in.

They'd saved him, of course, and assured that he wasn't bit, had just fucked his leg up on a piece of glass while trying to climb through a window. But it's bleeding badly and the cut looks deep, and Michael knows it'll attract attention.

“Thanks,” Ray says then, “Appreciate the save. But I'm good on my own from here.”

“Those things can smell blood,” Ryan points out. “They'll be after you. With that leg you can't move fast. Let us _help you_.”

Ray hesitates and Michael can see it, his desire to get help warring with his inability to trust them. But they did save him, just now, and Michael doesn't know what else he's seen while watching them from the roofs. Hopefully enough to know that they're not bad guys, that they've never hurt another survivor.

“Okay,” Ray says finally. His voice is a little strained, obviously in more pain than he wants to admit. “Take me back to mine.”

Michael tries to help him up but his leg is bleeding so much that it obviously hurts him to walk on it. After a few unsuccessful, very slow attempts at walking Ryan picks him up and slings him over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, ignoring his yelped protests.

Fortunately Ray doesn't live far from where they are, in a small private office building nearby. It's walled off from most of the dangerous roads, with easy escape routes via the windows, and there are three rooms, one on each storey. Ray's set up camp on the top floor, far enough off the ground that the zombies won't know he's in there. It's an impersonal little room; he sleeps on a leather couch and all his supplies are stacked in cardboard boxes. Strewn about the place are magazines, cushions, a Rubik's cube, random little signs of entertainment.

Ray lies on the couch with his leg outstretched while Ryan sews up the wound. Michael next to him watching with horrified fascination as the needle moves in and out of his flesh. Ray's face is white and tight with pain but he doesn't complain.

“What,” he demands, when he notices Michael staring at him. “You want to hold my hand or some shit?”

“Why, do _you_ want me to?” Michael snaps back, then feels a bit bad because Ray's fists are ground in against the couch cushions and it obviously hurts a lot. He looks around the room instead and can't help but frown. It reminds him too much of the camps he used to set up in places he'd never stay in for more than a few days at a time.

Ryan ties off the thread and Ray limps off the couch and tries to put on a pair of jeans, hopping about on his bare scrawny legs. Michael watches him as he eventually gives up and throws himself back on the couch in just his boxers.

“You just gonna make yourselves at home or what?” he asks, brows furrowed.

It's obvious that he still doesn't trust them, that he seems to want them to leave him here. Michael feels vaguely enraged on Ryan's behalf; he was the one who killed the zombie _and_ sewed Ray up but here the kid is glaring at him like he's caused him some grievous personal offence.

“You're fucking welcome,” he snaps. “Come on then, Ryan.”

“Make sure you clean that so it doesn’t get infected,” Ryan advises, seeming much less put out than Michael is. “When it starts healing you're gonna have to take the stitches out.”

Ray seems startled by his kindness.

“We won't bother you,” Ryan adds then, even as Michael is tapping his foot impatiently by the door. “And we won't come by here again if you don't want us to.”

Michael looks at Ray again and sees he's wound up tight. The guy obviously has walls up and Michael suddenly feels a bit bad for being so angry. It's not like he doesn't have a hundred and one trust issues himself after the shit he's seen out here, and Ray has been alone, it seems, far longer than he has.

“Thank you,” Ray says, quietly, and sounds like he means it this time.

—

Whatever his attitude at the time, the incident seems to have softened Ray towards them, for they run into him a number of times after that, their interactions growing friendlier with each.

They'll be out on scavenges and occasionally he'll saunter into the building, inform them that it's already been picked clean and they're wasting their time, and then disappear as suddenly as he arrived. The first few times, at least, after that he stays longer and longer. Sometimes tells them better places to look for food. Sometimes comes with them.

Now and then Michael and Ryan will be clearing a street or a building, up against perhaps a few more zombies than it's easy for them to handle, only for them to get picked off by a rifle shot from across the street. They'll look up to the roofs and see a small figure. After a while Michael takes to waving at him. Most of the time Ray waves back.

They head up to the roofs a few times, trying to use them as a better means of travel as they get more familiar with the city. They run into Ray up there one day; he's sitting looking at a milling mob of undead down below, eating a bag of raisins.

“Sup,” he says, upon seeing them. Greets them as casually as if it's the old world again and he's run into them at the shop.

“Hi,” Michael replies. It's funny how he almost looks forward to seeing Ray nowadays. Like it's good to have other people around. “What's up?”

“Enjoying the view,” Ray replies, with a wry sort of smile. “Considering pouring some gas down and trying to burn them all. Will save me trouble later but might cause a stink.”

“Let us know if you need help with it,” Ryan offers, and Ray glances up at him and smiles a bit. He offers him the bag of raisins and after a moment's hesitation Ryan sits next to him and takes a handful. Michael sits on his other side and they hang out for almost an hour, conversation drifting from the zombies under them to what they've been doing to keep themselves entertained recently, the various tourist stops around the city. It's a bit strange and Michael doesn't quite know what to make of it, especially when Ray leaves after a while and says “See you later” instead of “Goodbye.”

“I think we've made a friend,” he says, a little bemused as they watch him go, and behind him Ryan huffs out something like a laugh.

“I think you might be right.”

—

They scavenge in houses a lot less than they do in shops; it's harder to find things, but it's also a lot safer. There are far fewer zombies out in the suburbs. Michael doesn't like it, though, he always feels faintly bad about trawling through the possessions of people who are most likely dead.

Today, though, it's raining hard and they don't want to go out to the city, so they look around some more of the places near where they live. Michael's in some guy's bedroom checking the drawers for any meds when he finds the stack of magazines shoved carelessly in the bottom of the dresser.

“Hey Ryan! Come check this out,” he hollers, immediately, intent on sharing the amusement of finding actual porn. He didn't even realise people still kept magazines around, thought it was all digital nowadays.

He starts to flick through one of the magazines, hoping for a laugh, only to pause when he realises it really has been a long time. His sex life died along with 90% of the world's population, it seems, and while for the most part he barely thinks about that, distracted as he is with rather more important matters (like, y'know, not getting eaten alive by the walking dead), this has him abruptly reminded of the fact.

Ryan enters the room quickly, obviously having dropped what he was doing at Michael's call.

“What is it?” he asks, and Michael tosses one of the magazines at him. It takes Ryan a moment to actually work out what he's looking at. He does a double take then pulls a face.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Michael. Why.”

“Bet we could trade _that_ to Burnie for more booze,” Michael jokes.

“You're terrible,” Ryan says, putting the magazine down. He looks oddly flustered and Michael isn't sure why. It's not like they haven't made a hundred crude jokes with each other before.

“Look at this guy's dick. It's as big as my forearm.” He holds up the other magazine, open to the page with said dick. He's pretty sure photoshop was involved. Ryan holds up a hand to cover his eyes and looks away.

“God, Michael. Stop.”

“That's something I haven't seen in a while. A nice, big, juicy cock.”

“ _Michael.”_

He isn't sure why he's pushing, teasing even though Ryan is obviously embarrassed. As it is, Ryan turns on his heel to leave the room and Michael calls after him.

“Aw, Ryan, come on, don't be like that. Come back here. We can have a circle jerk.”

“Not much of a circle if there's only two of us,” Ryan starts, because of _course_ he'd latch onto that mathematical inaccuracy. After a minute he seems to take in the rest of what Michael said and shakes his head vigorously. “No. Fuck off.”

“Why? Am I not your type?”

“I said _stop_ , Michael.” There's genuine irritation in Ryan's tone and Michael snaps his mouth shut, a bit startled. He'd just been teasing but it seems he pushed a bit too far, even if he isn't quite sure exactly what line he's crossed. He falls silent and for a moment they stare at each other. Ryan's flushed red and Michael's still holding up that stupid oversized penis picture.

There's an awkward silence before Ryan clears his throat.

“Obviously you want some alone time. I'll meet you back at the flat.”

He's gone before Michael can even say a word, and slowly he lowers the magazine and lets out a long stream of breath. His stomach feels tight and sick and he isn't sure why. It's not like that was even a fight, or a proper argument, really. He just doesn't quite know why he got on Ryan's nerves so much – as he'd noted before, they'd made jokes about this stuff heaps of times before.

 _Did he think I was flirting?_ He'd said it as a joke – _am I not your type_ – but suddenly he feels oddly hurt and he loiters as long as he can around the flat, taking his mind off it by searching hard for any food or resources, before it starts to get dark and he's forced to head back.

It's awkward for about ten minutes as he and Ryan ignore each other in silence before Ryan approaches him.

“I'm not annoyed with you,” he says, right off the bat, and Michael lets out a breath he didn't even realise he was holding. “Sorry if I overreacted.”

“It's fine,” Michael replies. “I was being a dick. Shouldn't have made you uncomfortable.”

“I wasn't uncomfortable,” Ryan replies, but that just confuses Michael more, unsure what exactly he said that got Ryan so flustered. As it is, they quickly settle back into their usual routine, not talking about the incident again.

It has Michael thinking, though. It's the closest thing to a fight they've had yet and a sudden deep fear stirs within them at the thought of this not working out. Of them arguing and breaking apart and going their separate ways.

He's suddenly not sure if he could cope with being alone again.

Not just that, he'd _miss_ Ryan, and the thought of this crumbling the way even larger groups crumble – disputes over power or where to go next or people just not getting along – it makes him feel sick and scared suddenly.

He shakes himself out of it – _we're fine, we're fine, we made up_ – but that night, when he's on watch, he watches Ryan sleep on the couch and thinks this is beyond just two guys being friends now, surviving together for the sake of each other's company. He likes Ryan perhaps too much, and does not want to lose him.

And later on, when they swap watches and it's his turn to settle down and close his eyes, the last thing he sees is Ryan turning from where he stands by the window to watch him as well.

—

—

“Michael! Michael!”

Michael recognises the voice immediately and turns from where he was attempting and failing epically at picking the lock of a nearby store (“Of course I can pick a lock Ryan; it's fucking easy. Much like sex, you just stick the thing in and jiggle it around a bit.” “Is... that how you have sex? Jesus.”).

Gavin is jogging down the street towards them, waving frantically. He looks so genuinely excited to see them that Michael can't help grinning back, turning and waving.

“Gavin, my boy!” He steps forward and Gavin skids to a halt in front of him. They haven't seen each other in months but they left on such good terms that Michael kind of wants to hug him, but thinks it might be a bit awkward since they don't actually know each other that well.

After a second Gavin leans in and gives him a quick, brief embrace before pulling back and reeling in Ryan as well.

“Nice to see you guys are still alive!” he says. “I saw you walking by and was like, I must speak to them. We haven't seen you around.”

“We've been on this side of town,” Michael says, and Gavin nods.

“That explains it. Whatcha trying to get in there for?” he asks, squinting at the locked up convenience store.

“We need food,” Ryan explains – he looks happy to see Gavin too, a broad smile on his face. They've talked about Burnie's group quite a bit since they met them, occasionally worried that they hadn't seen them around town, wondering if they'd moved on or something had happened to them.

Despite his initial enthusiasm, Michael can't help but notice that Gavin looks a bit worn down. He's in need of a hair cut and probably a trim of his beard too, face haggard and dark circles under his eyes like he's been tired or too stressed lately.

“Well, we're about to try tackle the food mart a few streets away if you care to join us. It's been overrun for a while but it looks like a bunch of the biters have moved on since,” Gavin says.

They glance at each other and quickly agree that it's a better shot than the shops they've been picking away at, and follow Gavin over to the supermarket building a few streets away. As they go they catch up on what each group has been up to. Gavin chatters away eagerly enough but there's a nervousness to him that reminds Michael of the night they first met.

 _Maybe he just doesn't like being out where the zombies are_ , he thinks. Most people are used to it by now but there's still always a constant _danger_ present – perhaps he takes it for granted that he's not often scared any more. Then again, anyone who's survived a year of this should have toughened up by now.

“Gavin!” Burnie snaps, when they reach the rest of the group, hanging out in the parking lot out front of the supermarket. “There you are. Don't run off, fuckwad, I was about to go off looking for you.”

“But look! I brought Ryan and Michael,” Gavin says, beaming.

Gus is not there.

Michael notices his absence immediately. In his place is a muscular young blonde fellow, looking at them with a curious but friendly grin. _He's very ripped_ , is Michael's first impression of him. It's shallow but true.

Burnie notices who he's looking at and gives a small smile.

“Michael, Ryan, this is Blaine. He joined us since we last met you. Blaine, these are the guys we told you about.”

“Hey,” Blaine says, nodding at them. Michael nods back and wonders what happened to Gus. He could be back at their base, after all – but then he notices the way Gavin is looking at Blaine, something almost sour in his expression, and frowns a bit.

“You guys here to help us clear this place?” Burnie asks, and Ryan nods.

“Is there much left in there?”

“Yeah,” Burnie says, “But lots of biters too, so. Big group, stick back to back, don't use guns and we should be fine. We'll go aisle to aisle, do it logically.”

“The method of it pleases,” Ryan replies, and Burnie grins a bit. The two of them go up ahead leaving Michael to hang back with Barbara, Blaine and Gavin.

“So where's Gus?” Michael asks, carefully. It's a bit tactless but he really does want to know.

Gavin stiffens by his side but it's Barbara who replies, “He's not with us anymore.”

 _Not with us anymore_ , what does that fucking mean?

“You mean he died?” Michael replies, and Barbara's brow furrows a bit.

“No. He's just not with us now,” she repeats. Her voice is tight enough that it's obvious she doesn't want to talk about it, but Michael can't help pushing, overly curious.

“Do you know where he is then?” he asks instead.

“Maybe Alaska,” Blaine pipes up.

“For the last bloody time, there is nothing in Alaska,” Gavin snaps. Genuine annoyance sits uncomfortably in his voice, and they all turn to him in surprise.

“Okay,” Blaine says, looking apologetic. “Chill, alright?”

Barbara is giving Gavin an annoyed sort of look.

“Come on, Blaine,” she says, grabbing his arm and tugging him up towards where Burnie is walking. Blaine lets her pull him along and shoots her a small smile that makes Michael pause.

Gavin is staring at the ground. He looks upset, or maybe angry, Michael can't really tell. He sees how it must be now, though. Gavin was with Barbara until Johnny Bravo over there came sweeping in and took his place. Ouch.

“Sorry, dude,” he says, and Gavin glances at him.

“What are you on about?”

“That's rough,” Michael says, and nods up to Barbara and Blaine.

Gavin follows his gaze and wrinkles his nose. “What? You think I'm jealous of Blaine?”

“I thought you and Barb...” Michael trails off, realising he's greatly misjudged the situation, and Gavin barks out a startled laugh.

“What? Just because she's a girl you think she must be shagging one of us?”

“That's not what I-”

“Or do you just reckon everyone's screwing everyone else who's left over? Are you and Ryan fucking then?”

“What? _No_ ,” Michael snaps, unsure why the mere insinuation makes something hot and anxious rise up in him. They're loud enough that Ryan falls back towards them, eyebrows raised.

“Everything alright here?”

“Gavin's being a prick,” Michael says, at the same time as Gavin demands, “Are you banging Michael?”

Ryan's eyebrows rise and Michael's pretty sure his own face has gone bright red.

“No,” he replies, calmly.

Gavin gives a bitter laugh and then stops walking for a second, rubbing his hands over his face, taking deep breaths. Michael and Ryan exchange rather concerned looks.

“Sorry,” Gavin says, finally. “You're wrong, though, there's nothing going on with Barbara and I, that's not... it's Gus, I... I wish he was still here.”

 _Well where the fuck is he?_ Michael thinks, because they've still given them exactly zero information about what happened. Did he leave the group?

“What's in Alaska?” he asks instead, and Gavin's mouth twists.

“ _Nothing_ ,” he replies. “Blaine keeps insisting he's heard that the military have set up a base there, that it's safe, that there's a commune or something. But it's not true.”

“How do you know?” Ryan asks, sounding very curious.

“ _Because_ ,” Gavin insists. “Wouldn't they have done something by now, if it was safe there? Come looking for survivors or something? Besides, how the hell are we meant to get to _Alaska_ from here. I might as well try get back to bloody England. There's nothing there but he's gone and got it all in Barbara's head that we should all try to go there. She's from Canada, you know. That's probably why she wants to go back up.”

“Okay,” Michael replies, bemused.

“He keeps trying to convince us that going there's better than sticking around here,” Gavin says.

“What does Burnie think?” Ryan asks.

“Same as me. That it's a fool's errand.”

“But you're afraid Blaine and Barbara will go anyway,” Ryan says, because he's apparently got some Criminal Minds deduction shit going on that Michael finds faintly impressive.

Gavin bites his lip, looking away.

“Gus is gone,” is all he says. “I'm very worried.”

There's something childishly vulnerable in Gavin's tone and it hits Michael, then, the discord he felt last time they met Burnie's people. _Big groups fall apart_. It's what Gavin is obviously scared of, and Michael can't help feeling sorry for him. He looks very rattled, and it's that which lurks dark and unsettling at the back of Michael's mind as they help clear out the supermarket. There are zombies there, a couple of close calls as they take them out. Half-eaten dead corpses lying rotting in some of the aisles, people who tried to loot this store previously but didn't make it out alive. But more disturbing than all that is the tension between Burnie's group. The way Blaine and Barbara stick side by side and Gavin refuses to let any of the rest of them out of his sight. How there's something terser to Burnie's voice now as he snaps orders, trying to keep them all in line.

They do end up clearing it all out, and fill shopping carts with enough supplies to last them a good few weeks.

Barbara comes up to Michael while he's filling a basket with toiletries.

“You guys sticking around the city much longer?” she asks, with faux casualness.

“Maybe,” Michael replies, non-committally. “Gavin was telling us Blaine thinks it's safe in Alaska.”

Barbara nods, eagerly. “Yeah! Apparently a lot of people in his last group were talking about it. They heard some signal on the radio, or something – I don't know. It's the first solid hope we've had in a while.”

“You believe it?” Michael asks.

Barbara shrugs. “I don't see why not. It's not like there's anywhere else for us to go.”

“Gavin doesn't want to leave,” Michael points out.

Barbara looks almost guilty, suddenly.

“Gavin's had some bad calls with people,” she says. “He doesn't like change in our group. But if we all go, he'll come with. The problem is convincing Burnie.”

“Alaska is a long way to go if you're not certain what you're looking for will be there,” Michael points out.

“Like I said,” Barbara replies. “It's not like there's anywhere else for us to go. Something to think about, anyway.”

She walks off and Michael turns to look for Ryan, the way he always does. He's standing in another aisle with Gavin, talking to him as they check the expiry dates of cans. Whatever he's said, it's making Gavin smile for the first time since they entered the supermarket, and Michael can't help but feel inordinately pleased.

—

It's funny how the mood is so different this time when they farewell the other group. Gus' absence hanging over them like a thundercloud. Burnie's still smiling but he looks as haggard and tired as Gavin does and the sudden morbid thought strikes Michael, almost like a premonition, that this is going to be the last time he ever sees them. He shoves it away, horrified at himself. _Where the fuck did that come from_.

Gavin comes up to him again before they go and says, voice soft and almost childlike, “See you later then.” The words make Michael think of Ray.

“You take care of yourself, Gav,” Michael replies. He feels very worried about him for some reason, especially when Gavin leans forward and hugs him again. They hold onto each other longer this time and it's a bit strange because Michael still barely knows him, but can't help hoping, hoping, that for his sake his group works things out.

“You're lucky you have Ryan,” Gavin murmurs, into his ear, arms pulled tight around Michael's back. “Stay together okay?”

“Okay,” Michael replies, more confused and concerned than ever. Gavin pulls away and jogs to catch up with the others, who are already leaving. He steps up next to Burnie and the other man puts an arm around him for a brief moment. That reassures Michael, a bit, that the two of them will take care of each other, but Gavin keeps glancing over his shoulder at Blaine and Barbara walking behind him like he thinks they're going to disappear. There's something weird and paranoid in the motion.

—

“Why did Gavin think I was banging you?” Ryan asks that night.

They're drinking. They don't often, conserving their limited supply of alcohol, but after the strange events of today Michael needed something to unwind. He's just tipsy enough that his usual barriers are down and he rolls his head around to look at Ryan, on the other end of the couch, a wide, silly grin spreading across his face.

“Because let's be real, who wouldn't want to bang me,” he replies, and Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Michael.”

“I don't fucking know. I assumed he was with Barbara when he wasn't and he started going on about how I must think the left over people have all just paired up with each other.”

“I'm sure some of them have,” Ryan muses, and Michael shrugs.

“Yeah, well, you take what you can get nowadays.”

“Do you now,” Ryan says, sounding almost speculative, and Michael's eyes flicker over to him again.

Ryan looks strangely nervous as a charged silence settles over the room, between them. Michael can feel it, too, a faint fluttering low in his stomach. He chugs the rest of his drink and the alcohol fuels him a little, to sit up and lean towards Ryan, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Asks, voice low, “What?”

It's been brewing for a long time. Little touches and tensions and too much time spent alone with each other, so that when Ryan's lips crash onto Michael's and he kisses back furiously it never even crosses his mind that this isn't something he wants, even if he's never thought about it in so many words before.

The kiss is messy and desperate and a bit awkward; Michael's arm is pinned against the couch and there's too much teeth. Ryan tastes like the whiskey he just drank. It seems to suck the breath out of him so that when they pull apart he's panting and his heart is thundering like he's just run a marathon.

“Um,” Ryan says, eloquently.

“Let's try again,” Michael says immediately, and Ryan just gives a little nod, his eyes very wide.

“One second,” Michael adds, and turns and pours himself another drink.

Ryan barks out a startled laugh. “You do realise that alcohol doesn't _help_ your fine motor skills.”

“It's kissing, not heart surgery,” Michael replies, downing it and turning to Ryan with a grin. “God. What the fuck are we even doing?”

“Pairing up the left overs,” Ryan says, but looks uncertain suddenly, like he's not quite sure about this, and Michael moves in before he can second guess it any more.

He's pretty sure this wasn't what Gavin meant by _stay together_ but it feels – right, somehow, to lift his hands and clasp Ryan's face, feel the scratch of his beard against the palms of his hands. Ryan's skin is very warm and maybe that second drink wasn't such a good idea after all because his head is swimming a little and his heart is slamming too-too-too-fast. This kiss is softer, slower, sweeter, and the contact is a heady rush that he hasn't felt in too long and it's _Ryan_ , above all, strong gentle Ryan who he's been through so much with, and that makes something so tender it almost _hurts_ swell and bloom in his chest.

—

—

They've run into Geoff and Jack a fair few times since their initial encounter. They've gone scavenging together a couple of times, heading into places that it would be too dangerous to attempt with only two people. Done a couple of trades with them. Met in a bar once and had some drinks together.

Michael quite likes them. They both act like old veterans of this apocalypse, confident and unfazed by almost everything. He finds himself oddly looking up to Geoff, unsure quite why. The man is very chill and very funny. He also has committed most of _It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia_ to memory, which Michael was delighted by, bonding over their shared love of the show.

Jack, they discover, is inordinately good at bar games. Cards and pool and other things they play during their little meet up. Michael and Ryan play a lot of cards at home between them but it's more fun with four people and they have a lot more laughs. Jack is very kind, Michael notices. There's a gentleness to him that most people have lost nowadays.

It's a grey rainy day when they head off to seek them out deliberately for the first time. The weather's bad enough that they assume they'll be at home in their tower, so it's a good time to catch them – they need their help plotting a particular route through the city.

“It's kind of weird, don't you think,” Ryan says, as they head down the street.

“What's weird?”

“We have... friends,” Ryan replies, sounding adorably puzzled. “We literally have friends around the city. People that we meet up with and hang out with. They're like our fucking neighbours or something. I just... that's not something I ever thought would happen again, not with the world like this now.”

Michael barks out a laugh. There is something quite surreal about the whole situation. Before he came here it used to be you stuck with your group and that was all. Everyone else was just a potential threat, and inter-group conflicts were all too common.

“It is weird,” he agrees. “But nice,” he adds, because even if he's not _close_ to the others, it is good knowing they're out there.

The tower is in an industrial part of the city. There are surprisingly few zombies around. They have to climb a ladder to get up to the building on top – Michael can't quite work out what it is, he thinks it might have been a water tower at one point – as it is, they get up to the precariously railed off balcony running around the cylindrical tower building, stood atop an elevated metal structure, and find themselves hanging awkwardly about for a minute before knocking on the door.

There's a startled shout from inside, and then a thump like something was dropped. A tense silence for a few minutes.

“Who the _fuck_ is out there?” Geoff's voice hollers, sounding a little strained.

“Uh, Michael and Ryan,” Michael calls back.

There's another moment of silence before the sound of locks and bolts turning rings out and the door creaks open. Geoff squints warily at them before realising they're alone and pulling it wider open. He looks dishevelled, hair wildly messed up, shirt rumpled and buttoned up wrong. His belt hanging loose and open.

“Oh, you guys,” he says. “The fuck are you doing here? Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Ryan assures him, seeing the momentary alarm. “Just needed your help with something – is this a bad time?”

Jack appears behind Geoff. He looks a bit askew as well and Michael's gaze darts between them suspiciously.

“Oh my God you guys were fucking,” he declares, with a manic sort of grin.

Jack looks flustered but Geoff just shrugs and does a few obscene sort of hip thrusts.

“Yeah man. Not much else to do on a rainy day. You guys are cock blockers extraordinaire. I mean it, though, get in out of the rain.” He ushers them inside.

The water tower shell was at one point, it seems, turned into a design studio, and they've set up a homey little camp here. Lots of cushions and throws around, but clear escape exits and another ladder leading up to a loft area. A good number of weapons neatly displayed around. Stacked boxes of supplies. A water filter in the corner.

“Nice,” Michael says.

Geoff shoots him a thumbs up and moves to get them a drink. They settle down on one of the sofas and Michael can't help thinking how pleasant it is in here. Like a home much more than just a base. How the two of them have built up a life here, it seems.

 _You and Ryan could have that_.

They're something now, he and Ryan. He's not quite sure what, doesn't like to put a name to it. But since that first kiss he's let Ryan mean a lot more to him. And it wasn't a one-time thing. He'd hesitate to say they're in a _relationship_ , but he supposes those sort of labels don't matter much now with no one else around to see it but them.

“What do you need help with?” Jack asks.

Ryan opens a street guide on the coffee table in front of them. “There's a hunting store on the other end of town we want to check out, but we're not sure how to get here. That horde still hasn't left and it's too hard travelling on the roads.”

“Dude, that fucking horde is giving me the shits,” Geoff says, coming over to them and setting down a few cups. “It's only getting bigger. Getting dangerous to move around now.”

“It is,” Ryan agrees.

“We can track you a route. I think we made some bridges in this area and the roofs aren't too bad to move on,” Geoff replies. “Don't go today, though. In the rain it's easy to slip. Actually, if you want we can come with you another day. Might be safer with four people.”

Michael finds himself almost relieved that Geoff offered. It's something they've noticed lately, more and more zombies out on the roads. They've had to abort a few scavenging attempts because it was too hard with just the two of them.

“That'd be good,” Ryan says, and Geoff smiles a bit.

“Since you're already here you should stay a bit. Let's play Trouble.”

—

By the time they walk out of the others' house it's getting dark, the rain still hasn't eased up, and Michael feels very peculiar.

They had a good time with Jack and Geoff, a _really_ good time. For a little while, the rain drumming down outside drowning out the unnatural silence, it was easy to forget that the world was a shithole and they were some of the few living people left in it. It just felt like a group of friends hanging out (even if, as it turns out, Geoff is a startlingly sore loser and managed to smash the dice popper so hard that the plastic actually cracked because “ _you bitch, you bitch, stop sending me back to the fucking start!”_ ).

He thinks he's grudgingly beginning to trust them.

“You could stay if you want,” Geoff says, hovering a bit worriedly in the doorway. “The streets are still a mess down there.”

“We'll be fine,” Ryan assures him.

“Looks like the rain's driving them all west, anyway,” Jack muses, and Ryan and Michael exchange a glance, because Ray lives on that side of the city and there really are a lot of zombies out there.

They're obviously thinking the same thing because no sooner are they down the tower than Ryan says, “We should check up on Ray.”

“He might get pissed at us showing up,” Michael replies, even if he wants to as well, but Ryan shrugs.

“I'd feel better knowing he's okay.”

So they head off. It's getting dark by the time they arrive in his suburb and a storm has rolled in, thunder grumbling overhead and the torrential rain soaking them to the bone. The streets are terrible, a roiling mass of swarming zombies, riled up by the rain.

The door to Ray's building is locked and they knock, but if he's up on the top floor Michael suddenly wonders if he'll even hear them over the rain. He ends up taking up a handful of gravel from the car park and pinging pebbles at the window until he sees Ray's startled face appear.

Michael waves, Ryan does too, and he sees Ray's expression twist in surprise before he comes down to open the door.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” he hisses. He sounds startled more than angry.

“We just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Michael replies. “There's a shitload of zombies out here, dude, they're all around the area.”

Ray stares at them for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he holds the door open a little wider.

“Come in,” he says. “You're soaked.”

Michael doesn't realise until he's inside just how fucking cold he was; clothes sodden and hair plastered to his head. Ryan isn't much better off, they're both shivering and drenched. Ray fetches them towels and even some dry clothes. Michael's pretty shameless about stripping off in front of him and vigorously towel drying his hair, but he catches Ray darting both of them little awkward glances as they get dressed before turning away and going to boil water.

“Thanks,” Michael says, when he's finally a little drier and not freezing his dick off.

Ray shrugs from where he's hunched over a little portable stove. “Least I can do after you came to check up on me. You didn't have to, by the way.” There's something grudging and almost embarrassed in his voice.

Michael just shrugs. “It wasn't much trouble.”

“It's pissing rain out there and the streets are dangerous. It was a lot of trouble,” Ray says, moving to flick the gas off.

“Yeah, well, we'll be out of your hair if you want us gone.”

“Bullshit, there's no way you're going back out in that weather. You'll have to stay the night.”

“Sorry,” Michael says, unsure if Ray's annoyed at them, if they're intruding – but Ray looks up then and gives a tentative sort of smile.

“It's fine. It was... nice of you. To come. It's getting really bad out there. The shit I've seen from the roofs – I try not to walk on the roads any more because there's just so fucking many of them. If they don't clear out soon it's gonna cause us some trouble.”

“It really is,” Michael says.

Ryan comes in then from where he was drying himself off in the other room. Ray looks up at him and seems almost shy suddenly.

“Want something to eat?” he offers, and Michael and Ryan exchange a glance.

“Sure,” Ryan says.

—

It might have been awkward staying over at Ray's before, but they've built up something like a friendship over the last few months, and while Ray is shy and a bit awkward at first he quickly warms up to having them in his place. He's very into video games, they discover, and they launch into a discussion about the accuracy of the fictional zombies of the past.

There's a funny eagerness to the way Ray talks to them. Maybe it's because he hasn't run into anyone else before who shares his interests – _or anyone at all_ , Michael thinks, a bit sadly. It must have been lonely here before.

There's a second couch and the building is safe enough that they don't really need to keep a watch. Ryan lies down and Michael curls up against him, the older man's arms coming down to draw him close against his chest. It's cold in here and the physical closeness helps; not just that but Michael relishes it, the touch, the warmth of Ryan against his back and how this close he can feel the soft rise and fall of his breath. He still doesn't know quite what they are – they still haven't labelled it, really – but he likes it, this intimacy, especially when Ryan ducks his head down and presses a soft kiss to Michael's hair.

He sees Ray glance at them, an odd look passing over his face, but the other man makes no comment. Just watches them for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes, before he turns and rolls over and goes to sleep himself.

—

The streets are flooded the next morning, both with water and zombies. Somehow the horde has only grown, at least in this part of the city.

“You're fucking dead if you go out the door,” Ray says, looking rather unimpressed. “You'll have to leave by the window. I'll come with, actually, I want to scout around, see what the rest of the city's like.”

They end up sticking together all day. Ray knows his way around the city better than they do and they follow him around, all three of them increasingly concerned by the sheer number of undead that are milling in the streets. They're still coming in from outside, it seems, driven this way by bad weather and a lack of food.

Michael thinks Ray seems glad of their company. It's a bit rattling to see just how many zombies there are, and having someone else there to complain to, to share in that fear, is somehow reassuring.

There are plenty of areas in the city where rooftop travel is impossible and Michael can't help feeling suddenly grateful that Ryan is with him. If he was on his own he'd be shitting his pants at the thought of getting around on his own with no one to watch his back.

They end up back in the suburbs – which thankfully are still quite empty compared to the city centre – near where their own flat is. It's getting dark by now and Michael looks over at Ray – he's gotten quiet as the sun set – and says, carefully, “You should stay.”

He isn't sure if he means it just for tonight, or indefinitely, but Ray just shrugs – it's getting late and it's a long way back to his place on foot – and comes back to their flat with them.

—

Ray never actually leaves after that.

There's no discussion about it.

He still goes off on his own some days, but every night either returns to their place, or they go to his. Michael doesn't know if Ray considers himself a part of their group or not but the fact is that he's with them most of the time now, and things grow more comfortable between them all.

Having bases in two different locations now makes it much easier for them, especially with the city roads still so dangerous, and more and more of their belongings start crossing over. Clothes and weapons and blankets belonging to Michael and Ryan left over at Ray's house from all the times they stay over. Ray's back at their own flat in turn. Carving out little niches for themselves; Ryan spends a lot of time on the second floor of Ray's building, it's nice and quiet there and he often naps when his insomnia's been keeping him up at night. There's a small study room at their own flat that Ray starts storing his extra weapons in and he often goes there when he stays over and wants some space.

Michael gets used to Ray alarmingly quickly. They make each other laugh a lot. Ray is very deadpan, makes quiet sarcastic comments that Michael nearly misses half the time and then thinks back on and cracks up about. Ray in turn finds his rages very amusing, making something lighter of how frustrating this whole situation is. He becomes accustomed to Ray's quiet presence either in the flat or at his back when they go outside.

He's up on watch one night, Ryan sleeping on the couch nearby. Outside something is making a terrible racket. It's not the zombies, he thinks it might be a raccoon or a bat or something, but it's disconcerting in the silence.

A noise behind him makes him shift and turn. Ray's coming out of the bathroom and they make eye contact across the dark room before Ray comes over to stand by the window next to him. It's cracked open a bit and the chilly night air is coming through. Ray's arm is very warm where it's pressed against Michael's.

“You and Ryan,” Ray starts up, quietly.

Michael glances at him but Ray's eyes are still fixed out the window.

“Yeah?” he prompts, unsure where this came from or where it's going.

“It's brave of you,” Ray says, haltingly, like he's struggling to find the words. “To let yourself have that. Here and now. When it could so easily get fucked up and taken away from you.”

Michael bites his lip. He doesn't like to think about that. How much it would hurt to lose Ryan now. He cares about him so much even if he can't quite put it into words.

“It's Ryan,” is all he can think to say. Like that will explain it somehow.

“I guess if you find someone you can trust you should hold onto them,” Ray murmurs, and Michael nods, mutely.

Ray looks almost sad suddenly and Michael can't help but wonder just why he spent so long alone. Watching from the roofs as he did he must have realised that Burnie's group were decent people, Geoff and Jack too if he'd seen them. Michael and Ryan themselves. As much as they are friends now he still sometimes feels like Ray's just tolerating their company, like he's still not actually letting himself get close to them-

(And for some reason, Michael _wants_ him to try-)

There are a number of obvious answers. He lost someone. He's seen too many bad things. And Michael knows enough not to push.

He feels a sudden pang though, some yearning to at least show Ray that they're not just using him for his skills, that he actually does like him rather a lot. But he doesn't know what to do except reach out and squeeze Ray's arm, gently.

Ray looks over at him, a bit startled, then gives a small smile. He presses Michael's arm in return and keeps watch with him the rest of the night.

—

Things develop with Ryan at a funny slow pace, in little stops and starts.

It's not just the physical side of things, though that does too. They kiss frequently. Sometimes when they're bored and just messing around. Sometimes when there's been a close call out in the field. Sometimes late at night when everything takes on a sort of funny melancholy and it is too quiet and dark outside, the world making them so terribly aware that they are alive and alone in it, that almost everyone else is gone. They've slept together, a few times. Awkward messy sex that was over too quickly, both of them too pent up after months of nothing. It had been fun, though, both of them laughing at how embarrassingly desperate they had been. Improving on it slowly together.

It's not just that though. It's how Michael catches Ryan watching him all the time, soft and longing – catches _himself_ doing the same thing – draws a different sort of comfort from his presence now. Finds it easier and easier to let him touch him or smile at him. _Talk_ to him. Tell him more about his family or how scared he was at the start of all this or how scared he is _now,_ sometimes – Ryan does the same as well.

It's not all deep serious shit though. They play flirt more now, undercut with something else, something more sincere – tease each other – it makes a light floaty happiness rise up in Michael that he can't even bring himself to be embarrassed by.

(And Ray is there now too, watching them sometimes with a funny odd look on his face, and Michael is getting closer to him by the day but Ryan is too. He sees them sometimes sitting up on watch talking to each other, or comparing weapons – Ray teaching Ryan to use the rifle, Ryan teaching him to throw knives –)

Two becomes three almost too easily and Michael barely even notices it, swept along in the changes, Ryan at the forefront of it all. He supposes that by all accounts they are in a relationship but he can't quite bring himself to define it like that, not yet at least, it just seems – weird, with the world what it is. All he knows is he has Ryan and Ryan has him and that's enough, in this hellhole.

—

—

“That's weird,” Ray says.

They're sitting up on a rooftop restaurant looking out over the city, trying to work out if the horde is leaving or still hanging around. There's been a bit of movement but not enough to make the streets any safer.

Ray's looking through his rifle scope but he's paused now, frowning a little as he lowers the gun from his shoulder.

“What?” Michael asked.

“Where's the rest of the Blonde Brigade?” Ray asks. He passes Michael the gun and guides him where to look, his hands warm on Michael's arms. “There's, like, normally four of them and they basically never split up in the time I've seen, so it's weird there's only two of them now.”

“Blonde Brigade?” Michael asks, confused, only to pause when the scope falls on a little narrow street a few blocks away. There aren't too many zombies around there but enough that he doesn't think anyone would want to be out in the open.

But Burnie and Gavin are. Gavin's slumped back against the wall, head thrown back, and Michael can see his chest heaving, Adam's apple bobbing against the hard line of his throat. His eyes are wide and scared. Burnie is darting to peer out from the alley, checking how many zombies are there before he returns to Gavin's side.

“It's Burnie and Gav,” he says, and Ryan startles next to him.

“They're out there? Are they okay?”

“Fine I think, they're not swarmed or anything.” He frowns, though, watching – they're obviously agitated by something, Burnie pacing up and down, distressed, Gavin not moving from where he's pressed back to the wall, still breathing too hard.

Burnie checks the clip of his gun then strides over to Gavin, grabs his shoulders and shakes him. Not roughly, not angrily, more like he's trying to snap him out of it. His mouth moves, speaking fast and frantic, and then his hands move up to clasp Gavin's face, staring intently into his eyes.

After a moment Gavin gives a jerking nod and Burnie lets him go, squeezing his shoulder before stepping back. The two of them move to the end of the alley, look left and right like they're crossing a road and then run out across the street and down into a terminal that Michael knows leads into some of the underground train tunnels; they're quite safe, Jack and Geoff use them to travel often.

There's no sign of Blaine and Barbara.

Michael lowers the scope. He feels sick and uneasy. He meets Ryan's eyes and presses his lips together.

“Just Burnie and Gavin,” he says, and Ryan frowns a bit. He knows what it implies and Michael feels oddly concerned. He'd hoped that even if Burnie's group did leave town they'd stick together but, it seems, yet again a larger group has fallen apart. And it seems Gavin chose to stick with Burnie rather than go with the others.

Ray is looking at them curiously. “You know them?”

“Kinda. We ran into them, hung out a couple times. They're good people.”

Ray looks surprised by how unsettled Ryan and Michael seem by the affairs of this other group. He doesn't comment, though, turning away to keep looking through the rifle.

Michael can't get it out of his head all day. How tired Burnie looked. How scared Gavin did. Part of him half wants to track them down and-

 _And do what? Ask them to join you? How fucking well would that go, forming another big group that would only break apart again_. He pushes it aside as foolish; he has no idea where exactly they live, anyway.

He asks Ray that night if he's heard anything about Alaska.

“No,” Ray replies, rather bemused. “But fuck, man, I don't fancy the thought of staying around here too much longer. It's getting wild out there. Time to move on soon, I think.”

Michael blinks a few times.

“Are you leaving?” he asks. His voice comes out tighter and higher than he wanted.

Ray looks taken aback.

“Are you staying?” he replies, and Michael looks up and exchanges a glance with Ryan, who, too, has been oddly quiet. But Ryan has no answers for him, and Michael has no answer for Ray. _Are we staying_. He doesn't know.

—

—

“Do you know Geoff and Jack?” Michael asks.

“Describe them to me,” Ray replies, thoughtfully. Michael's come to realise that he tended to just watch people around the town, rarely ever making contact with them.

“Beard and moustache,” Ryan replies immediately, and Ray grins a bit.

He has seen them around, it turns out, even if they never made contact. The first time they run into Geoff and Jack out scavenging they seem surprised that Ryan and Michael have picked somebody else up. They don't see anything but Michael sees them shooting them little sidelong glances.

They don't have much time to hang around and get to know each other, anyway – either that time or all the other times they meet since, for the simple reason that the city has gotten ten times more dangerous in the last week or so. They end up working together more and more but each time they have little time to fool around or hang out. A group of five turns out to be far more effective, despite drawing a little more attention, they also have more manpower and firepower, and Michael feels far safer with four people at his back than he ever did alone or even just with Ryan – but even with all of them working as hard as they can, it's still a hassle to get anywhere in the city with the streets as packed as they are.

Michael still goes out just with Ryan sometimes – in the suburbs more than the city. They make a halfhearted attempt at looking for Burnie and Gavin one day, checking back at the police station and the rooftop they met them on that first time, but there's no sign of them and they don't know where else to search. Michael tries not to think about them too much. Staying unattached in case the worst has happened – it hurts less.

It doesn't quite hit him that Ray's become a permanent fixture in their group until said man goes off scouting alone one day while the others meet up with Jack and Geoff again, and Geoff asks where he is, having gotten so used to seeing him around the other two.

For a moment Michael feels a fleeting, momentary alarm – things progressed so naturally that it only really registers now that his determination to keep things just him and Ryan has been broken. He forces it away, though.

They say three's a crowd but it's not, not really, not a big enough one that he should be concerned. It's not like any one of the three of them are in charge of their group, anyway – they're all easygoing enough that they never really argue – _they're fine_ , he thinks. It's not like the impersonal groups of survivors he's been in before, people only interested in looking out for themselves. It's _Ryan_ and Ray.

It's Ryan and Ray.

—

Except then-

“We're leaving,” Jack says.

They'd gone over to the water tower to ask if the other two wanted to go on a trip to find Jack packing all their belongings. Geoff isn't there – out getting a car, Jack explains.

Michael finds himself startlingly sad by the idea of Jack and Geoff leaving town. Hadn't realised until now just how much he'd miss them. He glances over at Ryan and finds that he looks quite upset too. Michael reaches out and squeezes Ryan's wrist only for the other man to turn his hand in his grip until their fingers are laced together instead.

“Where are you going?” Ryan asks. Ray is watching from the side, quiet and impassive.

“There's a city near here,” Jack says. “Well, by near I mean a few weeks' drive. I know we're meant to avoid them. Concentrated population levels and all. But we're thinking if it's that much bigger we can stick to the suburban areas and probably find a lot more to scavenge there without having to go into the CBD. It's getting far too dangerous here. There just aren't enough supplies that aren't in the city centre and that horde is showing no sign of moving on.”

It makes a lot of sense. Their pickings have been slim as well lately.

“When are you going?” Michael asks.

“As soon as Geoff finds a good vehicle. We've been siphoning gas for a while now in case something like this happened.” Jack pauses, looks over at them. “You could come with us, you know.”

Michael stares at him. Then looks at Ryan, who looks – considering, almost. _Come with us_ , Michael thinks – he doesn't quite know what that means. Join them? Form a group of five? Or just travel together until they hit the next city?

He glances over his shoulder at Ray but the other man's face is as unreadable as always. Thankfully Ryan replies before Michael has to.

“We'll think about it,” he says. “It does make a lot of sense. The city's flooded.”

Jack nods, and gives a brief smile before turning away and continuing to pack.

—

“Ray, you've been here the longest,” Ryan says that night, as they sit around in the living room of the flat they've come to call home. “What do you think?”

Ray sits a moment, thoughtful, then says, “I've been scouting around and I haven't seen any other survivors in days, weeks now, even the ones I used to see about. The dead have claimed this city. I think it's time to fuck on out of here.”

“I'm inclined to agree,” Ryan says, and turns to Michael then. “But if you want to stay....”

He doesn't. Maybe he didn't realise it until now but this town means nothing if everyone else is gone. And it really is far too dangerous.

“Change of scenery might be nice,” he says, and Ryan smiles – Ray cracks a grin too – and, it seems, they are in agreement.

—

“ _Road trip_!” screams Geoff, when he sees they're coming with.

“It is not a road trip,” Ray replies, deadpan. “It is a very serious journey across very dangerous lands. We may all die.”

“It is absolutely a road trip,” Michael says. “I call shotgun.”

—

They all get into a big panelled van that Geoff found somewhere. It's sturdy enough that unless they run into a mob it should hold up against a couple of zombies, and one vehicle will draw less attention than a convoy. They head out of the city during the evening and for all that a nervous fear is buzzing in Michael's stomach at leaving familiar territory, at heading out into the unknown again, the company is good and he is soon distracted by the others. Sitting in the back of the van crammed in with cardboard boxes of supplies – Ray with his feet up on the seat next to him – Ryan smiling at him from across the small space – it still feels far more comfortable and familiar than any of the groups he was in before. They can work it out when they get to the city.

—

They've been driving for just over an hour – the sun sinking steadily now, only a final few scraps of daylight seeping out across their surroundings – when they see the figure shambling slowly along the side of the road. They're in the outskirts of the city by now, the occasional factory and outlet giving way to stretches of rural grassland.

“ _Rotter_ ,” Geoff hollers out – they're making a game of it; every time you spy a straggler you get a point – and they all twist and turn in their seats both to check that he isn't cheating and to make sure it's not a zombie that's going to cause a problem.

Michael thinks something is off immediately; it's dragging its feet but it's not moving like any zombie he's seen before. It doesn't have the irregular swaying gait, the funny jerking motions like it's being held up by invisible puppet strings, some unseen force dragging its limbs along.

And then, as the van steadily approaches, he sees the figure flinch, backing away from the road. _Not a zombie_ \- the headlights sweep across the curb, lighting them up, and Michael is hit with a sudden pang of recognition. He lurches forward in his seat and grabs Jack, the driver's, shoulder.

“Stop – stop! That's not a zombie...” He twists in his seat, double checking, his eyes locking with the figure who's standing staring at the van now, squinting a little in the taillights. “It's Gavin.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split the last chapter into 2 parts because it was too long and didn't read well as one big one, so this story will now have 4 chapters, ehe~

When the van pulls up by the side of the road and starts reversing towards him, Gavin turns and begins to run, back towards the city. Michael has to scramble to open the car door, tripping out after him.

“Gav! Gavin!”

The sound of his voice has Gavin skidding to a halt. He turns around, squinting in the darkness, still tense and braced to run again.

“Michael?” he calls back.

“Yeah, it's me! Come back over here!”

Ryan climbs out of the van behind Michael and Gavin relaxes at the sight of him. He trudges towards him and Michael frowns, eyes scanning over him. He looks even worse than the last time they saw him. Exhausted and scruffy, too-long hair hanging lank over his eyes. He has a backpack over one shoulder, a gun clutched in one hand, but his clothes are dirty and a little worn like he's been in them out in the dangerous city streets for a while. As he steps forward into the path of the van's lights Michael notices a dark bloodstain across the leg of his jeans and lets out a hiss of surprise.

“Fuck – are you bit?”

“No,” Gavin replies. He sounds relieved to see them, but very tired. “What are you guys doing out here?” His gaze flickers over to Geoff and Ray, who've gotten out of the van as well, and his expression turns wary. “Who are they?”

“Friends of ours,” Michael replies. “We're leaving the city.”

“Oh,” Gavin says.

Michael steps up to him. There's a nasty sinking feeling in his stomach. “We saw you a few weeks back, with Burnie...” He trails off when Gavin's expression shutters over with something dark and despairing and sad. “I'm sorry.”

He tries not to think about it. Kind, funny Burnie swarmed by zombies – trapped somewhere – maybe bitten – maybe ending it himself to avoid being torn alive to pieces – but Gavin's shaking his head.

“Don't know if he's dead,” he says, but there's something very weary in it. “He's just. Not here.”

“What's that mean? You got separated? You're looking for him?”

“I don't know.” Gavin sounds very lost suddenly, and very helpless, and Michael still doesn't understand. Where Burnie is or what happened or where Gavin is going – but this isn't a conversation they can have by the side of the road. He turns towards Geoff, who's standing watching them.

“He's coming with us.”

“Of course,” Geoff says, nodding. He steps forward and holds out a hand – Gavin looks at him warily and Michael is suddenly hysterically reminded of someone trying to coax along a stray dog. “You're welcome to come along, buddy – we'll stop at a rest stop a little way from here. See where we're all going.”

“I don't know,” Gavin says again. He glances over his shoulder back towards the city and Michael lets out a snort.

“We're not gonna just leave you on the side of the God damn road. Jesus Christ. Get in the fucking van.”

—

Gavin sits curled up at the very end of the bench seat. There is a tense silence hanging over all of them at this newcomer. After a few moments Ryan passes him a blanket.

After a while Gavin's eyes fall on Ray – lounging opposite, sharpening a knife – and he sort of just sits there, staring at him. Ray glances up after a while and stares back, raising his eyebrows.

“The name's Ray,” he says finally, and Gavin nods a bit, looking embarrassed at being caught out. Ray seems to take pity on him, leaning forward and holding out a hand. “Give me that gun, I'll clean it for you.”

Gavin hesitates, then passes him the gun. He sinks back into his seat, pulling the blanket up around him, then glances between Michael, Ryan and Ray, as though trying to work out how they all know each other. In the rear view mirror Michael sees Geoff watching Gavin, something intent and almost searching in it.

—

They stop at a little roadhouse another hour along the highway. It's deserted, not so much as a zombie in sight, the doors of the convenience store building swinging ominously open. They sweep the place – it's ghost-empty and silent – and finally settle inside the store and build up a little fire, gasoline and magazines burning with a horrible faint plasticky smell.

“Your leg,” Jack says quietly, crouching next to Gavin.

Gavin glances at him before stretching it out, wincing as he rolls up his jeans.

“It's just a scratch,” he says. “Scraped it on a bit of metal while climbing a fire escape.”

The bleeding's stopped by now, already congealed over, but infection kills just as much as blood loss nowadays and Jack tuts, turning away to grab their canvas bag of medical supplies. Gavin looks away, hunched close to the fire, and Michael comes and sits next to him, the others watching in silence. Ray's rummaging through their food stores, pulling out cans and inspecting them. Ryan sits next to Michael, close enough that their knees brush, and opens his mouth to speak. But Geoff cuts in before he can, from the opposite side of the fire.

“Gavin,” he says – Gavin's eyes pull up to his – Geoff is giving him an odd intent stare again. “Back at the start of all this – were you at a military camp in Austin? Mostly soldiers at first but there were some civilians. More later on.”

Something flickers in Gavin's eyes and he nods.

“Yeah – yeah, I was. How did you know?”

“Thought so! I remember you!” Geoff says. “I used to be in the army – had a bunch of mates who still were and we happened to be hanging out together when things went to shit. We never spoke but I remember seeing you around. Took me a second to recognise you with that beard.”

“Did the nose give it away,” Gavin mutters, and it's so good to hear him joking that Michael laughs perhaps a bit too loudly and then snaps his mouth shut, embarrassed.

Geoff tilts his head. “Jack and I got out of there about a month in. Looked like it wasn't gonna hold for long and we figured we could move better unseen if there were just two of us. What happened?”

“What you said,” Gavin replies. “It couldn't hold. The soldiers kept going out, trying to bring new people in, find out what was going on. If there was anywhere safer. Anyone in charge. And a lot of them didn't come back.” He swallows, looking away. “Whole place fell apart within months. I was through a few groups until I met Barbara. We stuck together for a bit. Then we met Burnie.”

Jack taps his shoulder gently and he looks up, extending his leg again. Winces a bit when Jack starts swabbing the scrape with antiseptic, but doesn't complain.

“What happened to Burnie?” Michael asks quietly.

Gavin's jaw tightens a bit. He looks away and a tense silence falls over the group. It's clear he doesn't like the topic but Michael is tired of all the things they don't talk about.

“Gavin,” he presses, and leans towards him. His hand is close enough to Gavin's on the ground that their fingers nearly touch. “What happened to him? You said he's not dead.”

“We got separated,” Gavin says, voice tight. “Too many biters on the road. We had to run and I wasn't fast enough – got cut off. We had to split up. He called for me to wait for him back at one of our places in the suburbs...” He trails off, biting his lip. “He never came.”

“So he might still be out there somewhere,” Michael says. “I take it you looked for him.”

“Of course I bloody looked for him,” Gavin replies, bitterly. “I looked for _weeks_ , I... I looked, and I waited, and I left messages for him all over the gaff but... but the city's too dangerous now and... I don't think he's coming back.”

“Not with that attitude,” Ray mutters, more to lighten the mood than anything, but Gavin glances up at him, gaze suddenly burning.

“You don't get it.”

Ray looks a bit confused, but Michael's more focused on Burnie, on the situation at hand.

“So you're leaving? You don't want to stick around and look for him more? We can...” he glances at Ryan, who gives a small nod. “We were going to leave but we can stay a few weeks more, help you search if you want.”

“That city's getting worse by the day,” Geoff speaks up, grimly. “I hate to say it but on his own out there... the odds aren't good. If he's got any sense he'll have gotten himself out as well.”

“So what's your plan?” Michael asks. “Where were you headed? Just moving on without him? New group? Going after Blaine and Barbara?”

“I don't know,” Gavin replies miserably. “Think I might stick on my own for a bit.”

On the other side of the fire Ray looks up.

“You're welcome to stay with Michael and I,” Ryan says.

“The five of us are all heading to the next city together,” Jack adds. He's finished up with Gavin's leg and helps him roll his jeans back down before settling down next to Geoff again. The two of them close together, Ryan and Michael the same. Gavin and Ray alone on opposite sides of the fire. “Come with us, if you want.”

“I don't think that's such a good idea.”

“Why not?” Michael demands.

“ _Because_ ,” Gavin snaps, voice rising in something that's more distress than anger. “This just keeps happening, alright? Everyone I'm with they – they leave, or something happens to them. Just. Over and over. I don't know what it is. Every person, every group, just – gone. I'm bloody cursed or something.”

“Don't be stupid,” Michael says, quietly. “You're not cursed.”

“Is that so? Because it really, really fucking feels like it,” Gavin says, and laughs, a bit hysterically. “I go with you and it'll happen to you guys as well. Break the group apart.”

“I don't believe in curses,” Ray speaks up. There's a scoff in his voice but his gaze is oddly soft, almost sympathetic. Gavin's eyes dart to him again.

“Well I damn well didn't believe that the dead would get up and start walking again,  _Ray_ , but look where we are now.”

“That's  _different_ ,” Geoff starts, but Gavin's still shaking his head and Michael reaches out and grabs his arm, tugging him to face him.

“I get it, okay, you're upset. And maybe you've had shit luck so far. But that's all it is,  _shit luck_ and this... this fucking world, man. It takes things away from us. It's nothing to do with you.  _But_ ,” he adds, when Gavin opens his mouth to argue further, “It doesn't matter, anyway. We're not a group. We're just travelling together. Let us at least take you to the next town. Then we'll all go our separate ways.”

The others fall oddly silent at this statement and Michael glances over at them. Ryan is shifting a bit uncomfortably. Jack and Geoff looking away, something awkward in the way they're holding themselves. Ray impassive as ever, but watching Jack and Geoff.

“What?” Michael demands, and Jack shakes himself.

“Nothing. Gavin, it's far too dangerous for you to stay out here by yourself. If you're going to go to the city, at least come with us.”

Gavin still looks hesitant, but he really does not have many other options, and after a moment he gives a halting nod. Geoff rises, reaching out to warm his hands over the fire for a minute, before he lets out a long sigh.

“I'll keep watch,” he says, snatching up his gun and striding off towards the van. After a moment Jack follows him.

Michael feels suddenly exhausted. A combination of the stress of travel, the turmoil of Gavin joining them, and a sudden almost nervousness at the others' strange reaction.

_It's true though. We're not all together, not really – Jack and Geoff will probably go their own way when they hit the city._

Gavin joining them would turn three into four, and Michael is suddenly uncomfortably confronted with what exactly would constitute a big group. How many is too many – enough that trouble could rise up?

He slumps back against Ryan and the other man pulls him back against his chest, arms settling easily around him in a loose, comfortable embrace. Gavin turns and picks at the chipped flooring. After a moment Ray leans forward and passes him a can of soup he just finished heating. Gavin glances up at him and takes it with something like a smile. There's a strange look on Ray's face and he unabashedly watches Gavin the entire time he eats, face unreadable; Gavin does not look up or acknowledge his staring. Outside the night is very silent.

—

—

They continue on. The roads are mostly empty, just the occasional straggler who's wandered out of the city shambling past on the roadside, too slow to do them any harm.

They take turns driving. Six in the van is a bit of a squeeze with all the supply boxes they have in there as well. Michael ends up squashed in next to Ryan most of the time. They fit comfortably together by now, bodies moulding with a practiced ease.

Gavin tends to sit alone, on one of the cardboard boxes packed full of cans, his body jolting with every bump and rattle of the van over uneven roading. He is quiet and dozes off a lot. Sometimes it hurts to look at him, especially when Michael thinks back to how he was at the beginning, that day up on the roof – loud and full of life and glowing in the sunlight. That has been sapped from him leaving nothing but slumped shoulders and tired shadows under his eyes. It is everything the world makes them.

—

It's Ray who makes the first effort, to Michael's immense surprise. Gavin's presence has had a lethargy settling over them, making the trip tired and awkward. But Ray speaks up one day, out of the blue.

“Hey Gav, what's the name of that zombie movie – that British one. Very famous. Has a scene with like, running.”

“A zombie movie with running,” Michael repeats slowly, stirring from where he was starting to doze off against Ryan's side. “Descriptive as fuck, Ray.”

“No, it's like, a scene where this one dude is running and more and more zombies start chasing him. Super iconic.”

“28 Weeks Later,” Gavin replies, a bit tiredly, without looking up.

“That,” Ray says, nodding. “Now _those_ zombies, man, I would not want to be up against them. The minute sprinting is involved I'm out.”

“They weren't zombies,” Geoff speaks up from the passenger seat. “They were just infected.”

“They were eating people and spreading the disease by biting. Ergo zombies,” Ryan offers, and everything deteriorates from there into an argument – a noisy one, a friendly one – about all the different zombie movies, something they have all reflected a lot upon over the last year or so for obvious reasons. And then, for some reason, a discussion of all the rules in Zombieland.

Ray's broken the ice now and Gavin draws out of his shell a little bit, and it settles something in all of them as well. They return to themselves, the funny, companionable group of people that had Michael so drawn to in the first place, and by the end of an hour Gavin is smiling again, and the drive is much better after that.

—

_Spot the Rotter_ becomes a fierce competition, even more so when they split into two teams, lads and gents.

“Not fair,” Michael says, at the end of one day when the gents are crowing a victory. “Jack and Geoff are always up front and two of our team wear glasses.”

“Someone's a sore loser,” Geoff teases, and Michael lets out a furious sort of grunt.

“That's fine talk from the guy who broke the dice popper.”

“ _It was weak_ ! The plastic was too weak! It couldn't withstand my manly strength. And you all took that far too seriously. You can still play the fucking game by rolling the dice.”

“It's not Trouble without the dice popper,” Jack insists.

“What's Trouble?” Gavin asks, and it takes twenty minutes of convoluted explaining before they work out it's called Frustration in England, during which time Jack spots three more zombies from his incredibly unfair, prime position in the front seat.

—

Ryan helps a lot after those first few days. Constantly striking up conversation with Gavin, entertaining his weird questions and encouraging more until he's acting much more like his usual self. Michael can't help but look at him and think sometimes how fucking lucky he is to have run into him all those weeks ago. A chance encounter that has shaped the last few months so much-

(And how lucky he is to have him in all those other ways because the more he sees Ryan around the others, Ray and Gavin and all, the more he feels himself... falling for him, or something like it, admiring all his little ways and kindnesses-)

He's in too deep and he can't quite bring himself to care.

—

They learn far too much about each other living in such a confined space. Geoff has no qualms about breaking wind in front of all of them, loudly and terribly and rancid in the enclosed van. Gavin's had some sort of weird ball surgery that Geoff makes him tell them about at least a dozen times, always in excruciating levels of detail. Ray mumbles in his sleep, little indistinguishable noises that aren't really proper words.

Other things too. Like that Jack used to do a lot of handiwork and had ambitions of building his own house one day. Gavin has siblings back in England – he mentions them accidentally once, bringing up some stupid anecdote about his brother only to clam up suddenly and never talk about them again. Ryan gets bad insomnia and used to have a dog – Michael's heard that one before but the others hadn't. He doesn't ask what happened to it.

Before he knows it they know all his ticks too. That he can't see shit without his glasses and he was the youngest in his family and he'll do almost anything if it's a dare.

Ray still doesn't share much but Michael can see him drinking in all their words and there is something much less guarded in how he looks at all of them now.

—

“But who is going to _stop_ me drinking then driving,” Geoff says.

“Me,” Jack replies immediately. “Me, I'm going to stop you.”

They do all end up drinking, though, because one of the bottles cracked accidentally and it's leaking all over the place and they don't want to waste it. Everyone except Ray – who then has to drive.

Michael is sprawled out in the back of the van. Ryan's head is leaning against his shoulder and his own legs are up over Geoff's and those warm points of contact are somehow the best things ever. He wants to touch Gavin and Jack too but they're too far away and there are boxes between them. Gavin is smiling at him though, his eyes a little glazed. He's a noisy drunk, gets rowdy and messes up his words and tells terrible jokes. It's a glimpse of how he might be if none of this had ever happened, like the alcohol lets him forget the apocalypse, and it makes Michael grin but also makes something ache a bit, deep inside him.

“I hate you all,” Ray says, after Gavin tells the greenhouse joke for the fifth time because “Why are none of you laughing, it's well funny – fine, I'll tell it again, maybe you still don't get it.”

“Ray, Ray no,” Michael says. “You don't hate us.”

“I do,” Ray insists. “You're making me drive.”

“And?”

“And I don't have a license.”

“Who's going to stop you,” Michael replies. “The _police_?” And then laughs and laughs because in his tipsy haze this is somehow very funny to him.

“The fucking car crash we're about to get into because I literally _do not drive_ ,” Ray says.

Michael just laughs again and Geoff pipes up, then, from beside him - “I believe in you, Ray,” and Gavin starts up a stupid chant then, some Peter Pan shit - “ _I do believe in Ray, I do, I do_!” and Ray rolls his eyes but can't quite conceal his grin.

—

“We're making good time,” Geoff says – they've stopped for the night, pulled over near a thick crop of trees that no zombie can get through without making a fuckload of noise. A map laid out in front of them. “That highway up ahead might be a bummer, though, we'll have to just wait and see.”

“I suppose when we get there you two will be off looking for another tower,” Michael says, and Geoff shoots Jack a glance that Michael can't quite work out.

Gavin looks oddly serious at this reminder that they're not going to drive forever, that they'll hit their destination and then he'll – what? Michael doesn't know, and it seems Gavin doesn't really know either, and he feels a bit sick himself then, sick and sad and uncertain because out on the road it's easier. They're heading somewhere, they have a goal, and he has Ryan and that is good but this city will be unfamiliar and it will take them a while to carve out their own space the way they did back in the town. Just the three of them – Ray will be there too – _or will he?_ He's suddenly not sure, if maybe this change of scenery will lead Ray to head off on his own again. No longer needing them.

“Can I talk to you?” Ryan asks, coming up over Michael's shoulder.

There's something oddly serious to his voice and Michael frowns, letting himself be led a little towards the tree line, out of earshot of the others. The dark has him on edge, always does.

“What?” he asks.

“When we get to the city,” Ryan begins, and then stops, as though gauging Michael's reaction.

“It will be big and very scary and we should probably find a house,” Michael replies, but he sees the way Ryan glances back over his shoulder – towards the others – and knows what he obviously wants to ask. Michael has no answers for him. _I don't know. I don't fucking know_.

Ryan opens his mouth again and Michael pauses, waiting, half-dreading Ryan telling him what he wants (because Ryan is not like him and Michael sees it, how much more relaxed he is in this group, how much he seems to enjoy having other people around-

And he does too but _the fear is still there_ -)

But Ryan closes his mouth without speaking – seems to think better of it – nods once, twice, and just says “Okay. As long as we stick together, you and I.”

Michael gives him a nervous smile and Ryan smiles back and then steps forward, hands coming up to clasp Michael's face and pull him in. The kiss is rushing relief, like a gasp of fresh air; with the others around constantly since they set out there hasn't been time for anything much.

And it feels different, this one. Oddly deliberate. Some drive under it like Ryan's trying to tell him something with lips and teeth and tongue; something that Michael, much as he enjoys it, is maybe not quite ready to hear. He pulls back and presses Ryan's arm.

“Later,” he says, “When we get to the city.”

Ryan nods, understanding, and Michael looks past him back towards the van. Jack and Geoff are pointedly looking away, talking between themselves, but Michael has the odd prickling feeling that they were _watching_. He frowns a little.

The back doors of the van are open and Gavin is sitting on the edge, legs swinging idly, lost in thoughtful silence. As Michael and Ryan make their way back, a little group of two, Jack and Geoff their own nearby, he sees Ray come out from inside the van to join him. Gavin looks up at him and smiles.

—

—

They're on the road again. They don't often stop for the whole night – only when it's too dark or the road too dangerous.

Michael can't sleep, he doesn't know why – he's restless tonight; can't get comfortable on the cramped seat. The others are all out, though, even Ryan. Ray's slumped against Gavin's side in an odd moment of vulnerability, head resting in the crook between his shoulder and neck. Michael watches them for a while, the gentle rise and fall of Gavin's chest, Ray's head moving along with it.

“Can't sleep?” Jack's voice rings out from the driver's seat.

Michael looks up and gives a wry smile.

“No. Dunno why.”

He shifts forward, picking his way through bags and boxes until he's hunkered down behind the driver's seat. Jack twists his neck to smile at him.

It's funny, he hasn't spent much time with Jack or Geoff alone since they met. It's always been the two of them together.

“Nice to see Ryan asleep,” Jack comments. “He always seems to be up at night.”

“Yeah, even before all this shit he had problems with it,” Michael says. He glances over his shoulder at Ryan and can't help his fond sort of smile.

Jack notices, of course he does.

“The two of you...”

Michael hesitates, then thinks, it's not exactly a secret.

“We're,” he begins, then realises he's not quite sure _what_ they are. Together? Boyfriends? Fuck buddies? No, not that – it goes deeper than that, it has to.

“We're something,” he settles on, and Jack, seeming to sense his uncertainty, gives a gentle smile.

“I get it,” he says. “This whole thing – the world being what it is – it pulls people apart. But it can also push them together.”

Michael nods – that's it, that's it exactly – and Jack's smile widens.

“I'm glad,” he adds. “I think you do well together.”

“You and Geoff,” Michael says, curious, “Were you together before all this? Or did you meet after?”

“We knew each other before but we only started dating after.”

“Dating,” Michael scoffs. “Weird way of putting it when there are no dates to go on nowadays.”

“What, you mean all those outings to pick through dumpsters and brutally murder the risen dead weren't dates?” Jack says. “And here I was wearing my best zombie-killing gear.”

Michael laughs. “It's hard to find words for it now,” he says, and Jack nods.

“Well, the good thing is, you don't have to,” he replies. “Not now. There's no one to judge. There are no rules any more.”

“I suppose there aren't,” Michael says, thoughtfully.

There's a moment of companionable silence. The world passes by around them, black and empty, each stretch of cracked highway the only thing in sight, a solitary bright beam in the headlights before them.

“It's good,” Jack speaks up. “Seeing you and Ryan so close. It... I don't know. It reassures me. That there are still good people and good things. Not everything is bad. And not everything rots."

Michael bites his lip. It's true – Ray and Gavin, though friendly enough, both display a cynical sort of vibe, a penchant towards pulling away and putting walls up. Ray's is more apparent and Gavin’s is newer, rawer, like Burnie's disappearance was the last straw. Both sorts are terrible and make something ache in him to look at.

So he knows what Jack means. But he can't help but realise, in a rare and thoroughly unwanted moment of self reflection, that he does it too. That it would be so easy to keep Ray, and encourage Gavin to stay, and tag along with Jack and Geoff, but there's still a fear there, blocking him. That this is all some cruel trick of the universe – that finding so many genuinely  _good_ people – thinking maybe it can all be okay – it seems too good to be true. The minute he lets himself trust that maybe six can work, that six is better than one or two or three at most – it'll all crumble and fall.

That's his fear. Not even a sick cold fear that keeps him up at night but a lingering, lurking one, engrained deeply in his mind and heart and the way he lets himself engage with the others.

But if Ray and Gavin are wrong – if they are wrong, then maybe he's wrong too.

Or maybe it's three fucking a.m. and he can't sleep and the road flashing by white under the headlights is starting to make his head spin.

“Maybe,” he forces out, and Jack reaches out over the back of the seat and touches his hand, a funny, too-gentle motion.

Michael lets himself sink down to the floor of the van, head lolling to rest against a bag of towels. The hum of the van's engine a reassuring thrum under him. From here, down low among all the boxes, he can just see the others – Ray slumped against Gavin, Ryan's face soft and lax in sleep, Geoff's hand fallen limp against Jack's leg.

_Not everything rots,_ he thinks, and closes his eyes and lets the world speed away around him, the van a hurtling shuttle through the night, conscious of nothing but the others' solid presence close by him.

—

“Rotter!” cries Gavin. “Oh, wait, no, it's a tree. God _damn_ it!”

“I fucking hate you,” Ray says – it's the fifth wrong call in the last half hour. “You're the only one on our team with 20-20 vision! _How_ do you keep fucking up so bad?!”

Gavin splutters indignantly. “It's not my fault! Besides it's well foggy out.”

This is true; the weather took a turn for the worst last night, turned cold and crisp. Grey but not raining, not yet – and a faint mist hanging through the forest, fading the distant road into white.

“You suck,” Ray mutters, and Gavin pouts and opens his mouth to protest before Ray barrels on. “Doesn't he suck, Michael?”

“What?” Michael asks, distracted. He's staring out the window, which is frosted over with condensation. They'd covered it in drawings of dicks, naturally, but he's swiped them away in favour of looking out at the fog. It's terribly eerie and Michael has felt uneasy all day at the thought that they can't see anything else that might be hiding out there.

Ray and Gavin both give him odd looks and he forces himself to turn away, to stop worrying.

“Yes, Gavin is utterly useless,” he says, and Gavin makes some rather high-pitched, indignant spluttering noises. Geoff laughs at him, his infectious laugh that always spreads to them all. It makes Michael feel a bit better, a bit less unsettled.

“Don't worry, Gavin, I love you,” Geoff says, glancing up at Gavin in the rear view mirror.

“Thanks Geoff,” Gavin replies.

They're joking, but Michael can't deny that both of them have gotten closer lately. The two of them clicked the same way Michael clicked with Gavin when he first met him; as the younger man opened up more he'd gotten more of his sense of humour back. Stupid stories and questions and scientifically inaccurate statements that have them all devolving into argument – Michael can't deny he's fun to be around. The fact that both of them were at the same military camp seemed to help too; Gavin latched onto Geoff after they'd talked about the people there a bit, and Geoff appeared to not mind.

Geoff and Jack are a package deal, though, and Gavin warmed up to him too. Michael can't blame him. Jack has a warm, grounding, reassuring _normalcy_ to him. He's just so down to earth, so friendly and kind that being around him makes it easy to forget that most everyone else left in the world has turned into a grade A asshole who only cares about their own self-preservation.

It's funny how they all settle into their own dynamics with each other. Like one day when Michael and Geoff and Ray are the only ones awake in the van and end up playing a game of Celebrity Heads that quickly devolves into nothing but shit talking famous people. Just a barrage of sarcastic comments as they try to out-snark each other. Maybe it's the hysterical tiredness of being up all night but they laugh so hard that they end up waking up Jack, and they can't stop chuckling about it for hours afterwards.

It all adds up to make Michael feel _close_ to them, in the way you only can after spending night after night on end with someone else.

He tries not to think of this coming to an end.

—

—

“Stop,” says Michael. “Something's wrong.”

It's getting later and the weather has gotten no better. The afternoon brought clouds and a spattering of rain before a cold front blew in. Frigid air and even more sweeping fog, rolling across the road ahead of them in the dull wind.

“It's like a video game,” Ray had supplied, a while back. “You know how mist covers the parts of the map you haven't explored yet? Like that.”

“More like a damn horror movie,” Gavin muttered, and Michael was inclined to agree.

Especially now – he's in shotgun, Ryan driving, and he'd rolled down the window a bit only to get hit with the rank sweet smell of carrion, carried on the breeze.

Ryan pulls the van to a halt and there's a tense sickening silence.

“What?” Geoff asks, uneasy.

Michael winds the window down further.

“Can you smell that?” he demands.

Gavin gags and retches – he has such a weak stomach that Michael sometimes wonders how he's survived this long, how he hasn't been Darwin'd out already.

Ray sniffs and then shrugs.

“Smells like the dead,” he says. “Everything does nowadays.”

“Not this strongly,” Michael says. He just has a bad gut feeling, and glances across at Ryan, who understands immediately and nods, trusting his instincts.

“Get out the map,” Ryan says, twisting in his seat to look at the others. “Let's see where we are.”

The road they're on leads out from a bunch of rural areas and towns and, a little way ahead of them, intersects with a larger interstate highway that'll take them into the city. They're close to that point and after some debate Michael and Geoff go on ahead on foot to scout around, make sure things are all in order.

After so long in the van Michael feels exposed and vulnerable walking, like a snail without its shell. The fog doesn't help and it's only Geoff's presence by his side that keeps the fear tamped down in his chest.

“Here,” Geoff says, as they approach the intersection. There's a service station next to it, empty and silent. The smell is much stronger here though, heady and overwhelming, making his stomach churn.

And then they hear it, the trudge of shuffling footsteps growing steadily louder, the slow drag of shambling feet on tarmac. And then the moans. Low, snuffling, involuntary growls of air being forced through dead hard lungs.

Geoff grabs Michael's arm and tugs him behind two large ice containers in the service station. Michael can barely breathe, a crushing sense of dread overtaking him.

Slowly, a dark figure emerges from the mist. And another, and another, moving into horrible clarity as they approach. Michael can see more and more of them behind, faint in the fog, like an army of ghosts.

“Oh my God,” Geoff breathes beside him.

Michael can only nod mutely. The zombies approach and begin to pass by, down the highway. So many that they take up the entire road. And still more emerging from the fog, line after line of messy marching troops. Unending.

For a moment all Michael can hear are their groans, the smell rushing and filling his head. He thinks he might throw up. Then Geoff's hand descends on his shoulder, a reassuring, grounding weight.

“Let's go,” he croaks – Michael nods – they turn and sneak back down the road towards where the van is parked.

He must look rattled because as soon as he slides back into the front seat Ryan reaches out to grab his arm.

“What is it, what's wrong?”

“Another horde,” Geoff says, grimly. “A fucking big one too. So big we can't tell how many. They're moving along the highway, there's no way we can get through.”

The smell was so bad Michael can nearly taste it, thick and cloying on the back of his tongue. He coughs and Ray passes him a water bottle; he sips gratefully, trying to wash it away.

“So what now?” Ray asks.

Ryan spreads out the map again, frowns. “We could avoid the highway. Travel off-road.”

“We'd have to go on foot then,” Jack points out. “I don't think that's a good idea. We can't carry all the supplies and there's still a long way to go.”

“What's that?” Gavin asks, leaning forward to point at a symbol on the map, a little way behind them off the road.

Ryan checks the key. “Looks like a motor inn,” he replies. “We could stop there. Check back at the highway every day to see if the horde's moved on.”

“I like that plan better,” Michael says, and turns to see all the others nodding.

“We're in agreement then,” Ryan says.

“Yay democracy,” Ray pipes up, and it forces something like a laugh from Michael's throat as Ryan puts the van in gear and starts to turn them around.

—

The motor inn is a small and somewhat shabby little place. There are two cars in the parking lot and a rotting corpse on the ground, a screwdriver driven through its eye into its brain. Otherwise it seems deserted.

“We sweep the place,” Geoff says, as they sit in the van staring out at the eerie dark building. Evening is upon them and the neon lights of the inn sign are long dead. “Stay in pairs. Call out if anything seems off.”

Ryan is Michael's default but somehow the other man ends up with Ray and he finds himself off with Gavin instead. They head off towards the office and one of the guest rooms.

Gavin is quiet and tense and Michael remembers how much he seems to dislike going out and scavenging. It makes sense now; out in the field is where things go wrong. Where people can get taken away from you.

“Alright?” he asks, when he sees Gavin staring worriedly over at where Ray and Ryan are moving off towards another set of rooms.

Gavin nods and Michael takes the lead, staying in front of him as he pushes open the office door.

He feels oddly responsible for Gavin. Maybe because he got closest to him first, or pulled him off the road and along with them.

The office looks empty but a low groan rings out. A lone zombie rises up from behind the counter, emaciated and decomposing. Michael leans over the front of the counter and grips the front of its bloodied and dirty shirt with his knife, holding it at bay before he plunges his knife through its eye.

Gavin makes a disgusted noise behind him, but he's fine when Michael turns.

“How many have you killed?” Michael asks, curious.

“Enough,” Gavin replies. “Still gross though.”

“You get used to it. First one's the worst.”

“Tell me about it,” Gavin says, but his voice is oddly tight and Michael doesn't push to ask how it happened.

The keys to all the rooms are hanging on a board in the office and he takes them out to the others. When he and Gavin go to check out their share of the rooms they find two more zombies, locked in their rooms where they obviously died of infection. He kills both of them and Gavin gives him a grateful nod afterwards.

—

There aren't too many zombies in the motor inn and once they've cleared them out the place is quite secure. They eat together and then split off into separate rooms after arranging a watch. It's surprisingly good to pause and unwind after so many days on the road and Michael is looking forward to sleeping in an actual bed again.

There's a room with a single and a double that he and Ryan migrate towards. Ray comes too and they hang out for a little while, drinking tea and looking over the maps again, but when Michael starts yawning and mentions heading to bed, Ray nods and gets up, making for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” Michael asks, confused.

“My room,” Ray replies, eyebrows rising. “I'll be just next door. Don't rattle the bed frame too loudly,” he adds, grinning, and Michael rolls his eyes and throws a cushion at him.

“Shut up. You're not staying in here with us?” he asks.

Ray blinks a few times, glancing between the two of them, then at the beds.

“Uh,” he says, sounding a little dumbfounded. “You mean you didn't get enough of me out on the road? Kinda figured you guys would want some alone time.”

Michael had taken it for granted that the three of them would all just sort of stay together. They've lived in a small flat together for ages now, after all. But he sees what Ray means and realises that he must think that he and Ryan are – are properly together, or something.

_Are we?_ He wonders, suddenly unsure. Ray's still heading for the door though, and it's Ryan who calls after him.

“Sure you'll be right on your own?”

“I've been on my own for ages,” Ray calls back. And then, adds, “Stop your fussing. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Michael replies, but it feels odd after Ray closes the door behind him. Too quiet. He sinks back on the bed and sighs, and Ryan rolls over to lie next to him.

“Are _you_ gonna be alright?” he teases, poking at Michael's arm. “Not gonna miss Ray too much? Should I get him back in here?”

“Shut up,” Michael laughs, squirming away from him. “It just feels weird without him. Guess that comes from living together for a while.”

“Hmm,” Ryan says.

“I hope...” Michael trails off, unsure, then pushes on. “I hope he stays with us. When we reach the city.”

“Why wouldn't he?"

“I dunno.”

Ryan leans forward and plants a soft kiss on his lips. Michael blinks, surprised, but kisses back – Ryan pulls back, keeping the pecks light. Again on the lips, then Michael's cheek, then his forehead.

“Stop worrying,” he says sternly, and Michael smiles.

—

Michael has second watch and when he's done he goes to wake Gavin up for third. There's light coming from under the door of the bedroom he's claimed and when Michael knocks and enters he finds him sitting awake on the bed. His back is to Michael; he's looking at something but he shoves it in his pocket when he hears the door open.

“My watch?” Gavin asks.

“Yep,” Michael says, leaning in the doorway. Gavin turns and Michael does a double take.

He's shaved and cut his hair and for a moment he almost doesn't recognise him. Without the beard he looks much younger, less worn down, and Michael's startlement gives way to a slow grin.

“Well. Who knew there was a pretty face under that rat's nest. Actually you kind of do look like a rat with that long nose.”

“Very funny,” Gavin says, rolling his eyes. He's smiling a bit though, something shy in it, and Michael steps further into the room, grinning.

“I'm just joking, Gav. That'll give the others a shock in the morning, though. You taking watch?”

“Oh! Right, yeah.” Gavin gets up and heads for the door and for a moment Michael catches his face in profile and is hit by a sudden intense pang of deja vu.

_The fuck...?_ It's nagging at him, because clean shaven, neater Gavin is suddenly reminding him of something and it's  _frustrating_ him that he can't remember-

Except it drifts back to him, then, something Geoff said –  _you were at a military camp_ – and God. God, it's been over a year since all this shit started and he's forgotten a lot, blocked out even more, but one memory comes back to him now. Right back at the beginning. He ran into the military and- and it was Gavin, he recognises him now. Gavin was there with them. Nervous and scared and had a friend with him, a soldier.

He opens his mouth to tell Gavin this but he's already out of the room and Michael gets up and follows him. And by the time he's out there, standing by Gavin's side in the dim moonlight, looking out over the car park, he's thought better of it.

_They looked close_ , he thinks. Remembers the soldier putting an arm around Gavin the same way he'd seen Burnie do.  _What happened to him?_

Nothing good, otherwise Gavin wouldn't be standing here now, alone with them, and Michael bites his lip, feeling a sudden ache.

“Did you mean it?” he asks. “When you said you thought you were cursed.”

Gavin gives a wry smile. “It sounds stupid, but I kind of do. It keeps happening, Michael. Every time I find people they just... go.”

“Burnie didn't mean to."

“It doesn't matter whether they mean to or not. And sometimes I can't tell any more.” He looks down, fingers tracing along the balcony rail. “Before I found Burnie and the others... I was with a bunch of different groups. A lot of them split up, or... or didn't make it. But a bunch of the others. They didn't want me with them. So I left, or they left me. Barbara was the first person not to in a long time. But now she's gone too.” He sighs, sounding exhausted. “Maybe I should have tried to convince Burnie to go with them. Then we'd all still be together.”

“They shouldn't have left you.”

“They had hope,” Gavin replies. “That's something.”

_Hope_ , Michael thinks. And he still doesn't believe that there's ever gonna be a cure for this or the world will go back to how it was but-

But he thinks, suddenly of what Jack said. About how not  _everything_ is bad and there are still people – people he  _trusts_ , he can't deny it – that's hope of a sort as well.

“I'm the common factor, anyway,” Gavin continues. “When I'm around people just... go away.”

“It's not you,” Michael says.

“Well I bloody well can't see what else it could be.”

“ _It's not_ ,” Michael insists. “And it's not gonna happen here, okay? This time is different.”

It's when he says it that he realises he means it; he'll be damned before he lets what they have here fall apart. Something fierce and warm swells in his chest and Gavin turns and looks at him, a bit puzzled.

“I thought you said you weren't travelling together. That this was just temporary anyway.”

That sobers Michael quickly, leaves him hesitant and uncertain.

“I don't know any more,” he replies, but Gavin just shrugs.

“Thanks, though. That's nice of you. But I'll work it out. I've survived this long, haven't I?”

“Somehow,” Michael mutters, and Gavin laughs.

“Ha ha. Goodnight, Michael. Go back to Ryan. I'll be fine.”

Michael smiles a bit, but he feels suddenly bad leaving Gavin standing out there alone. He turns away though, trudging back to his room. Ryan wakes up when he gets into bed with him again, and quickly shifts closed to him, pulling him into his arms – it's cold and there's no heating beyond what the blankets can provide.

“You okay?” Ryan whispers, having sensed something wrong.

“Every group Gavin's been in has fallen apart,” Michael says. “Every group I've been in before this has too.”

Ryan's hand squeezes his shoulder, massaging gently. He's silent and for a moment Michael thinks he's not going to reply. Then he speaks.

“When I picked you up by the side of the road,” he says. “It wasn't the first time I stopped for someone.”

Michael looks up, startled. “But you were alone.”

Ryan nods. “I've seen a lot of people walking along the roads. Some of them ran away when I approached. Some tried to kill me, steal the car. One of them got in and then later tried to knife me in the night.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Ryan nods, grimacing. “That wasn't fun.”

_Did you kill them_ , Michael wonders, but somehow he doesn't think so, doesn't think Ryan could. Especially given what this is leading up to.

“But you still stopped for me,” he says, and Ryan nods again.

“I did.”

Michael presses his lips together.

“A lot of people think good people won't survive in this world,” Ryan says. “But I don't know. _I_ managed. And I found you. You keep trying until you find the good things. And sometimes they work out. Like you and me.”

“Life lessons from Ryan Haywood,” Michael mutters, because he's feeling a bit embarrassed now, but Ryan just laughs.

“If I hadn't picked you up where would we both be now?”

“Not having as much hot sex that is for sure,” Michael says, and Ryan snorts a bit, but Michael smiles, so he knows he was listening, and Ryan pulls him closer and rests his head against his shoulder.

“I want to keep trying with this too,” Ryan says, and Michael swallows, but after what he's just heard – after seeing Gavin standing out there walled off and alone – it's easier to let himself remember Jack's kind smile and Geoff's laugh instead of all the groups that fell apart before.

“Okay,” he says. “We'll see what happens.”

Ryan's face presses into the crook of his shoulder, cold lips planting a gentle kiss to the side of Michael's neck. Michael laughs a bit, pulling an arm around him and letting himself drift in the warmth of the blankets around him and Ryan's reassuring weight against his side.

—

—

The horde is very, very large, and the bad weather slows its movements down. It often pauses to linger at points along the road, especially when there are bodies lying around, carcasses for the vulture dead to stop and feed on.

They check back every day to see whether it's moved on, but it takes three weeks before it's anywhere near safe enough for them to think about trying to drive along the highway. In the mean time they stay at the motor inn. Building a makeshift wall around the parking lot with cars and furniture dragged from the rooms. Scavenging what little they can from the place.

Or otherwise resting, hanging out, enjoying having some room to spread out after weeks in the cramped van.

Three weeks. Three weeks in each other's company without the burden of travel.

A lot can change in three weeks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theoriginalbattleskirt made an [awesome fanmix](http://8tracks.com/pie-is-awesome/our-neighbors-in-the-zombie-apocalypse) for the story, thank you so much!
> 
> writingstobehad [made one as well](http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/Our+Neighbors+In+The+Zombie+Apocalypse/104404484). I love it, thank you! <3


	4. Chapter 4

It begins with Ray, or at least, that's the one who Michael notices first. Maybe because he's always been the most reserved, so seeing him open up to the others comes across as more of a drastic change.

He goes out hunting with Geoff in the woodland around the motor inn quite frequently. Sometimes with Ryan too, both to look for any animals they can eat and pick off stray zombies so they don't come in and cause problems later. The first few times Ray tries to go alone but the others insist on accompanying him for safety. After a while he stops arguing.

Whenever he comes back he's always looser and more relaxed than Michael has ever seen him, despite having just gone out into the danger of the field. Laughing and smiling and joking with the others and not even bothering to hide it.

Michael sees him with Jack, too, keeping watching up on the balcony surrounding the second storey of rooms on the motor inn. At first he seems to be teaching Jack to use the rifle, but after that they often seem to just be sitting and talking. Sometimes he sees them joining each other on watch.

He still hangs out just as much with Michael and Ryan, whether it's going for small patrols in the forests around the house or sitting with them around the motel. And by this point, whenever they're _not_ around Ray, Michael catches Ryan looking for him, casting little glances around to see where he is, the same way he does to keep tabs on Michael. He can't even fault him for it because he notices that he does the exact same thing. Is starting to do it with the other three as well.

Ray spends a hell of a lot of time with Gavin too. They sit next to each other at dinner (although that's not all that notable since Michael always sits next to Ryan and Jack always sits with Geoff). And almost every night Michael goes to get one of them for watch only to find the other in the room, both of them still awake and sitting on the bed together. Talking or playing cards.

One time he finds them poring over a map. They put it away when he comes in and he doesn't ask, mostly because he's suddenly afraid that one or the other of them really is planning to leave, and he doesn't want to face that – face how it would make him feel – not yet, anyway.

But in all it is becoming very, very noticeable that while Ray was so aloof and alone previously, it is rare to catch him alone now.

—

Ryan and Michael did so much together before, but part of that had to be simply because they had no one else. And they're still close – and getting closer with each night spent together – but now they have _options_ , and it's good to get a little bit of space, to befriend the others individually and on their own terms.

Ryan does most of the building on the wall and for some reason Gavin takes it upon himself to help him. Michael often watches the two of them – listening idly to their stupid, nonsensical conversations, arguments about maths or science that Gavin understands very little of and Ryan probably not much more, he's just better at bullshitting plausible sounding responses. Ryan's the overseer of the little construction project, teaching Gavin what to do most of the time. In return Michael hears Gavin telling him a lot about cameras, for whatever reason. There's something more confident in his voice when he's talking about something he knows a lot about and Michael catches Ryan watching him, rapt. And when they're not together, shooting him fond sorts of glances.

Again, he can't bring himself to mind. Not when he himself is doing the same thing.

When Gavin's not with Ryan he's often with Michael. They drink together at night sometimes, when they've patrolled and the woods are clear and there's no danger of the group being snuck up on. Michael's growing fonder of him by the day. It's just nice, to forget about the world outside for a moment even if it is under the haze of alcohol. To do nothing but laugh at their stupid conversations and antics and terrible dancing. Geoff joins in often as well. He and Jack spend a lot of time with Gavin too; although Michael doesn't witness it much, he sees its effects on their closeness in how easily Gavin touches Geoff, an arm around his shoulders or throwing himself onto him on the couch or Geoff sneaking up to give him a noogie. The soft smiles Jack sends his way whenever he thinks the others aren't looking.

Michael sees Ryan growing closer to Jack and Geoff too.

They all work together on the wall sometimes and there's a camaraderie between them that comes from being the older ones in the group. Not to mention Michael sees them, in quiet moments when they think all the lads are away, looking over the maps and speaking softly together. He can practically see Ryan opening up to them. Knows he really wants to stick with them beyond just this road trip.

And even if he didn't pretty much trust them already, he thinks maybe he'd agree anyway, for Ryan if for nothing else.

But he _wants to_ , now, because he's been getting closer to them as well. Geoff staying up on watches with him to laugh quietly over their memories of TV shows or stupid terrible stories. Helping Jack sort out their food supplies and in the course of their conversation finding himself suddenly open to telling the other man more and more about himself, his family – Jack is a good listener, sympathetic without being pitying, never offering useless platitudes but somehow always managing to make Michael feel better anyway.

It all boils down to the six of them, in their different combinations. A six that feels more comfortable than any other group Michael has been in before. Everyone gets on with each other. There's no one leader yet they're all still in agreement on where they're going and what they're doing.

And they _all_ enjoy each other's company, whether it's overly competitive card games or daring each other to try different questionable canned foods. Eating together or talking together or building a wall together. Sharing stories or singing terribly.

 _I want this_ , Michael realises, looking around at them all one night, gathered around faces flushed in the firelight. Geoff's leaning into Jack's side, head thrown back, laughing, but Gavin's next to him, lying down with his head in Geoff's lap. His cheek resting on his leg, Geoff's other hand easily settled on his back. Ray's the one telling the story, more alight and animated than he ever was before they set out.

Ryan is beside Michael and their fingers are laced together gently; when he looks over Ryan smiles at him and he smiles back.

 _I want this_ , he thinks again, the six of them because you keep trying until you find the good things and this, this looks like a very good thing. He wants this and he thinks he might even be able to let himself have it.

—

And perhaps that would be it, his mind made up, ready to think on it further and discuss it with Ryan as they continued on towards the city. But things do not stop changing there.

Michael's with Ray one day, just the two of them. It's early in the morning, a grey dawn, and they're patrolling around the forest seeing if any zombies have approached the motor inn in the night. Ray lifts his rifle to his shoulder and focuses in on a bird he points out to Michael in a tree nearby.

“Not worth the noise,” Michael says, and Ray nods, lowering it.

“Wouldn't be able to eat it anyway. Not the right sort of gun. Bullet would just rip it apart, ruin all the meat.”

“Oh, you wanted to _eat_ it? I thought you just wanted to kill it. Since it's a pigeon and they are horrible vermin who spread disease and contribute nothing to society.”

“How could you say such a thing,” Ray replies, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fucking birdist.”

Michael laughs. They move on. The forest looks funny at this hour, washed out in the cloudy morning light, white fog misting from their mouths with each breath.

“Where'd you learn so much about that gun anyway? From everything you've said you didn't exactly seem the athletic type before all this.”

“Figured it out as I went, same as everyone else out here,” Ray replies, but there's a sudden hardness to his voice that Michael hasn't heard in a long time. He turns towards Ray to find him frowning a bit.

Ray notices that he's noticed, and forces a smile.

“I was lucky to find this thing. Took it off a body; dude had been swarmed by zombies that got up behind him. A rifle isn't much good at close range when you've been taken by surprise.” He looks down, picking his way carefully across the uneven forest ground. “First few weeks of this shit I was holed up inside. Determined to sit it out. I still thought it might all be fixed up, I think everyone did. Ran out of food, though, then I had to start going out. Joined a couple of groups, or tried to.”

“You left them too,” Michael says, and Ray looks over at him.

“Look at me, Michael. I'm a scrawny nerd with bad vision, I was horribly unfit, and my only talent used to be getting video game achievements. At first it was okay, there were heaps of people just as useless as me forming groups. But then people started dropping off – weeding out the weak or whatever – and people got less... _forgiving_ of carrying extra baggage around. I realised very quickly that no one wanted to keep someone that wasn't useful.”

Michael winces. He can't deny the truth of it. Some of the groups he'd been in had had that exact attitude, unwilling to help or keep around anyone who couldn't carry their own weight. He'd been lucky to be young, fast and strong. But he'd seen enough bad things happen to people who weren't.

“So I made myself useful,” Ray continues. “Found this gun and learned to use it. Got good at it. But I... I saw enough people who didn't give a fuck about me. No way I was gonna go and help them now. And while I was alone... I saw them doing it to other people too. Just over and over. Leaving them behind. Using them as zombie bait. Killing them to stop them taking up resources.” His voice is rising a little and Michael clenches his fists, the same pain welling up in him, all the things he's seen too. “It was just – fucked up, it was so _fucked up_ , I couldn't be part of that again. Better off on my own.”

Michael doesn't know what to say. He reaches out and touches Ray's wrist gently and Ray turns to him and gives something like a smile.

“So that's why I was alone for so long. But then you guys... you guys came along all fucking Mother Teresa. Helped me and didn't want a damn thing in return. You're both too good for this world you know. Most people like that are dead now.”

“Not Jack and Geoff.”

Ray nods. “I saw you all, trying to help that woman. Would've shot her myself if Geoff hadn't done it. But it... it took me a while before I even started to think about maybe joining you. Sometimes you get so stuck, you know, in thinking it's just... better to be alone. Can't lose anyone. No one can fuck you over. Or leave you behind. Giving yourself hope and then having it snatched away – that's hard to come back from.”

Michael bites his lip, nodding.

“Anyway,” Ray adds, and looks suddenly almost nervous. “I see that in Gavin too, like he's in that headspace. It reminds me of me back when I headed off on my own. But Gav... he's not like me, I don't know if he can take care of himself the way I could. Maybe I'm not giving him enough credit. But I... I think I need to go with him.”

Michael's heart sinks.

 _Go with him?_ He hasn't talked to Ray about what will happen when they got to the city, hasn't informed him of his change of heart. Maybe he thinks they're still all splitting up-

 _Or maybe he_ wants _to split up_ , he thinks, grimly.

“The two of you are leaving?” he asks, hesitantly.

“I don't want to leave you and Ryan,” Ray says immediately, and Michael lets out a huff of relief.

“Good. Okay. Because I've been thinking, and Ryan has too, and... we want to stay together. With the others if possible.”

“Me too,” Ray says – at least they're on the same page then – “But Gavin might not, and if he doesn't then I... I really think I should go with him.”

Michael bites his lip. “We're all gonna try convince him to stay.”

“But if he _doesn't_ ,” Ray insists, and Michael stares at him – there's something odd in his voice – and he suddenly remembers all the nights he's gone into Gavin's room and found Ray in there with him, or vice versa –

“Oh my God,” he exclaims. “You're fucking Gavin.”

“What?! No,” Ray splutters, and Michael stares at him – at how his cheeks are flushing a little.

“You _want_ to fuck him then!”

“Do you have to put it like that,” Ray snaps, and Michael grins at him, leaning in to jab at him with his elbow.

“Oh, okay, you have a _crush_ on him-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ray says, but his face is bright red now. “It's not a _crush_ , okay, it's just... something. I don't know.”

 _Something_ , Michael thinks, the way he has something with Ryan. Ray hasn't known Gavin as long as he knew Ryan but they've been crammed up together a while, and Gavin does have a peculiar charm about him.

But for some reason – for some reason the thought of Ray liking him that way makes something tight and uneasy stir in Michael's chest, something perilously close to jealousy because _he knew us_ first _, we were the first ones he even trusted_ – yet here he's willing to just drop them and go off with Gavin instead.

It's not even just that, it's more stupid than that, some weird resentment that Ray could fall for Gavin but – _but not for me_ , which makes no damn sense because he has _Ryan_ (even if Ryan is close to Ray too, perhaps too close, they have all been living in very close quarters for the last few months, of course there were moments when Michael wondered what it might be like if he was with Ray instead of Ryan, if he'd encountered him in this city on his own and it was the two of them together first instead – just vague thoughts, vague fancies, nothing serious until now when it seems Ray is going to be taken away from him-)

Not resentment against Gavin though, not even that. Rather, Michael can see perfectly well how Ray might have developed feelings for him, if only because he can see how _he himself_ could. Gavin worked his way into his affections very quickly.

 _Oh God_.

“We'll convince him to stay,” he says, quiet so Ray can't hear how tight his voice is. “No one has to leave.”

Ray nods, lips pressed together.

“I didn't – I didn't mean it like I wanted to abandon you,” he starts.

“I know,” Michael replies, and it's Ray who steps forward and pulls him into a hesitant hug. Michael wraps his arms around him and holds him close, face pressing into his bony shoulder. He didn't realise just how much he doesn't want Ray to go until the possibility of it happening is right in front of him. Some terrible part of him wonders what Ray would do if he kissed him right now, and he pushes it away, wondering where the hell that even came from.

Ray pulls back after a moment and Michael forces a smile.

“Does he know?” he asks, and Ray shakes his head.

“No. Don't tell him.”

“Okay,” Michael says, and Ray shoots him a grateful smile.

—

He tells Ryan though.

“Ray and Gavin,” Ryan muses. “I can see it.”

He sounds as casual as though he's mulling over some romance on a soap opera, and Michael rolls over in the bed – it's late, Ryan's just come in off watch – and elbows him.

“Ray's going to fucking leave with him if we don't convince him to stay,” he says, perhaps a bit hysterically.

“Alright, calm down,” Ryan says, running a hand soothingly through Michael's hair. “Look how much closer Gavin's gotten to all of us. As long as Jack and Geoff agree to stick together – and I'm certain they will – he'll probably agree to come too. He has to know how hard it will be to survive in the city on his own.”

He sounds so certain that Michael relaxes a bit.

“Okay,” he says, and catches the white glimpse of Ryan's grin in the dark.

“Our little Ray is growing up,” he says, and Michael barks out a startled laugh.

“It's weird to think,” he says. “After it was just us and him for so long.”

Ryan goes oddly quiet, and Michael turns towards him.

“What?” he asks, but Ryan just shakes his head.

“Nothing. Just, you're right. It is weird. I know we don't own him or whatever. But he is sort of... _ours_. You know?”

Michael does know. He knows in excruciating detail, every vivid memory of their time together. The instances where a quick shot from him saved Michael from some near-misses with zombies. Ryan patching up Ray's wounds. Ray falling asleep one time on the couch with them, all three waking up in a sprawled pile and then not moving for a long time, too comfortable in a warm tangle of limbs against the cold morning. Even here and now Ray often takes a nap in their room instead of his own.

And he can't help but keep noticing it even more now, how close they all are. How Ray wanders into their room the next morning and shouts “ _Wake up bitches we're going hunting,_ ” and then when they don't get up immediately, flops face-down on top of them and says “I'm planking,” and refuses to get up, even when Michael's leg starts going to sleep, until they get out of bed.

How he watches them sometimes, glances over at Ryan holding Michael's hand or Michael leaning in for a kiss, and there's something too fond in his voice when he tells them to “Get a room, now that you have one of your own and I don't have to listen to you two screwing from a few metres away.”

How even when Gavin comes to sit in their room with them Ray still gravitates towards sitting with Ryan and Michael – although there's something almost shy in the way he looks at Gavin, Michael notices, now that he knows what's going on there – only he goes to the bathroom and comes back and finds Ray giving the same look to _Ryan_ , and that gives him pause.

It seems impossible, but-

_Is that what he wants? To be with us too?_

He'd have laughed it off once because _three, all three of us?_ But things are so different now, in this world, without rules or order or anyone to judge. When you cling to everything you have because you could so easily lose it. And Ray has, after all, joined the two of them in pretty much every other respect.

And even if Ray does like Gavin – the way he looks at him is the exact same way he looks at Michael and Ryan, too, and maybe it's just harder for him to admit that.

—

Michael is going to talk to Ryan about it. Part of him doesn't want to, wants to keep it to himself, embarrassed in case he's wrong.

The other part is quite certain he _isn't_ and wants the confirmation that he's not just delusional.

But then, because he doesn't have enough on his mind already, he sees Ryan looking at Jack and Geoff.

It's stupid little things. Geoff's hand on Ryan's arm when he's talking to him. Jack and Ryan standing out by the wall laughing at something – Michael watching from up on the balcony – noticing how they pause for a moment and just grin at each other when their laughter dies down. Ryan walking back to his room without a shirt after bathing and Geoff, sitting over near the van, giving him a lingering gaze for a moment. Ryan returning it the next time Geoff does the same thing.

Part of him still thinks he might be seeing things that aren't there. Ryan has not said anything about it to him. Maybe once, before, he would have been jealous, even if Ryan still returns to him every night, still glances over to make sure he's by his side and sends him small secret smiles whenever their eyes meet.

But now he's just confused – finds himself looking at Jack and Geoff too, trying to work it out. They have an ease that speaks of a long relationship but they still make comments, stupid comments – sometimes Jack says things to Ryan that come across as flirtatious if Michael thinks about them. Or Geoff will ask Gavin _would you rather_ questions involving how much he'd have to be paid to give him a hand job or a blowie or, once, to join both he and Jack in bed.

(“Why, you offering?” Gavin asked in response to that one.

“Well, money's worth nothing nowadays, isn't it,” Geoff had replied. “I can pay you in bullets or those weird Asian peanut snacks we found.”

“Those were delightful. It's tempting.” Gavin was laughing though, still completely oblivious to everything that Michael was picking up on now; how Geoff laughed too but had a strange smile on his face when he turned away. How later that night Gavin dozed off leaning against Jack's shoulder and Jack didn't get up even when everyone else had already left to go off to their rooms.)

He's not immune to their strange behaviour either. A touch of Geoff's hand on his shoulder suddenly seems to have more meaning to him. All of Jack's little kindnesses undercut by something else, something deeper. And he doesn't know if he's projecting now, if he's just seeing things, but the point stands that the idea has been planted in his head, and now he's left thinking about the possibilities as well.

—

Things come to a head a few days before they finally leave the motor inn.

—

Michael doesn't mean to eavesdrop. He just happens to be heading out to the parking lot to grab something from the van when he sees Geoff and Gavin sitting on a bench out near the office. They don't notice him but from where he's rummaging around in the glovebox he can hear their conversation quite clearly.

“-really don't know,” Gavin's saying, voice halted and hesitant.

“Look, Gav, you _will die_ out there on your own. You'll run out of bullets, you'll run out of food, you don't know your way around. I'm not trying to be mean but it's true.”

Michael pauses, realising that Geoff's trying to convince Gavin to stay with them.

“You don't know that,” Gavin says, a little annoyed now. “You don't know how many times I've been alone out there. I can handle myself.”

Michael sees Geoff's shoulders slump a bit, seeming to remember exactly _why_ it is that Gavin's so hesitant to join them.

“Jack and me then,” he says, “We could do with having someone else around in a big city like that.”

“Aren't you gonna stay with the others?” Gavin asks.

“We don't know for sure yet. Probably. But even if we don't – you could still come with Jack and I. Just the three of us.”

Gavin looks away. Michael knows him well enough now to tell he's considering it. But then he says, “Be a bit of a third wheel though, wouldn't I?”

Geoff pauses and Michael assumes he's about to scoff and tell Gavin it doesn't matter. But he goes oddly quiet, instead, and then says – so softly that Michael isn't quite sure he's heard right – “What if you don't have to be?”

Michael freezes and he sees Gavin freeze too – eyes jerking up to Geoff's, wide and confused – and that's when it sort of hits him that _I shouldn't be listening to this_ and he scrambles out of the cab, closing the door quietly, and though he's aching to hear Gavin's reply – to see what happens next – he's somehow scared, too, like whatever Gavin says or does will change the dynamic of the group irrevocably, and he leaves, heart pounding.

 _It's too late,_ he realises, when he gets back to his room. In offering Geoff has already changed things and – and it hits him now that these things he's been noticing have been building up, building up, and suddenly – suddenly he's not quite sure where they all fit now. Where that comfortable ease between them has gone and-

_Everything is going to change._

—

It changes. Much sooner than he expects.

That night, in fact.

There was movement in the woods that day so Ray, Geoff, and Ryan end up manning the wall, keeping a sweeping lookout on the forest around them. Jack's asleep and Michael's meant to be too, but he sees a light coming from under Gavin's door and pauses. They ate apart today so they haven't seen each other since he overheard his conversation with Geoff. On impulse he steps forward and raps on the door twice before opening it.

Gavin whips around almost guiltily. There's a bottle in his hand.

“Oh hey, Michael,” he says, accent slurring his words together, voice thick the way it gets when he's been drinking. Michael frowns, stepping forward, but he's not smashed, just tipsy.

“Hey Gavvo. Drinking alone?”

“Not now that you're here.” Gavin waves him over and Michael follows, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. Gavin passes him the bottle and he hesitates before shrugging, taking a long slow sip – he knows enough not to get too drunk and the danger outside is more a precaution than anything serious.

“Don't call me Gavvo,” Gavin adds then, and Michael raises his eyebrows.

“No?”

“No,” Gavin says, and sobers up for a minute as he says, “S'what Burnie used to call me.”

“Oh.” He doesn't know what to say. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It's okay.” Gavin holds out his hand for the bottle again and Michael passes it back to him, frowning a little at how much he knocks back. He coughs a little when he pulls it away. “I miss him though. And Barb.”

Michael bites his lip, feeling awkward and useless; he's never been the best at this comforting business, especially not now when anything you try to say in reassurance is rendered worthless in the face of the fact that the whole world is just a waking nightmare now.

“Guess I'll just stick to calling you Gavvy Wavvy then,” he says, and smiles when Gavin lets out a huff of laughter. “Or _shithead_.”

“ _You're_ a shithead, Michael,” Gavin replies. “A shit-curly-head.”

“Wow. Your drunken wit astounds me. Stop hogging the bottle.”

Gavin laughs again and passes it back. Michael lifts it to drink and Gavin shifts closer to him on the bed, leaning in to rest his head on Michael's shoulder. He pauses, nearly choking on his mouthful of liquor, but doesn't shrug him off. The alcohol's already making him relax, making his caution and tension melt away. Gavin's warm weight against his side reminds him of Ryan.

“I had a really weird day today,” Gavin says.

It's the alcohol making his tongue loose, Michael knows, and maybe if he was completely sober himself he'd have the presence of mind not to get information out of him while he's like this. But he doesn't, and so he leans back on his elbows and lets Gavin's head loll against his chest, his wild hair tickling Michael's chin.

“Oh yeah?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Geoff sort of came onto me.”

“Did he now,” Michael says, and Gavin nods vigorously.

“Yeah. He did. I didn't really see that coming, except I did, except I _sort of_ didn't because I... I find it hard to believe sometimes. If people are being straight up with me when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“That sort of thing,” Michael repeats, and Gavin nods again.

“Yeah. Anyway, I... I didn't know what to say. Join him and Jack, I dunno. We're close I suppose. And I like them a lot. But I don't know what to do.” He gives a miserable sigh and waves a hand for the bottle. Michael passes it to him, silently.

“I don't know what to do,” Gavin says again, when he's finished, handing it back to Michael. He stays sitting upright this time, staring down at his hands, turning them slowly like there are some invisible answers written on his palms if only he can work them out. “I'm all mixed up. I don't know who I...”

 _Who you what_ , Michael thinks, but he's more stuck on this confirmation that Geoff did indeed extend some sort of... what? Weird threesome invitation towards Gavin? Except it quite obviously isn't just about sex and-

 _Seems everyone is falling in love with Gav nowadays_ , he thinks, and looks at him and sort of can't quite draw his gaze away from his eyes and how they look about three different colours in the lamplight, the soft pout of his mouth as his face twists in confusion. The easy affection in the way his knee is still bumping against Michael's. And realises then just how easy it _is_ to fall for him, because he just _likes_ him, a hell of a lot really-

(and Ray even more, and somewhere, faintly, Jack and Geoff too, but Gavin is the one here beside him now, his knee very warm against Michael's even through the fabric of their jeans, looking up at him like he thinks Michael has all the answers he needs and Michael suddenly can't look away-)

“I think they care about you a lot,” Michael finds himself saying. “But don't do anything you don't want to. Go with your gut. Or your heart, or whatever.”

“I'm trying to have a heart more,” Gavin says, whatever the fuck that means – it's some throwback to a conversation they had in the van one time Michael thinks, he can't really remember now – but he just nods except apparently Gavin means something _else_ entirely because suddenly he's shifting closer, and closer, and both his hands are on Michael’s knees now and the next thing he knows Gavin's lips are on his.

It's funny; it's so slow coming that he's not even _surprised_ at the contact, but somehow he sits stock still anyway. Gavin's lips are cold and he tastes like whiskey and Michael is suddenly shockingly reminded of Ryan and their first kiss, and how they'd been drinking then too. But he doesn’t even get a chance to decide whether to kiss back or not before Gavin is jerking himself away like he's been burned. Like he didn't quite realise what he was doing and is waking from a daze now.

“Oh God,” he says, and stares at Michael in horror. “Michael, I – I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking right.”

Michael can only stare at him because Gavin might have snapped out of it but _he_ hasn't, sitting there with his lips parted and heart racing and his limbs feeling suddenly heavy and sluggish.

_What just happened. What the hell just happened._

It sinks in slowly. Gavin kissed him. And he didn't push him away and-

_What, now Gavin fucking likes you too, what the fuck is going on here-_

_This is not what I fucking meant by 'go with your heart' okay-_

“Why...” his voice cracks a little and he clears his throat. Gavin flinches. “Why the fuck did you just do that?”

“Michael,” Gavin says, voice almost pleading. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm not mad.” And he's not, somehow. Still feels oddly _detached_ , like it just happened to someone else. “Just... why?”

“I don't know,” Gavin says, miserably. “I just- I'm all mixed up, like I said.”

“ _Mixed up_ ,” Michael repeats, and Gavin bites his lip. He won't meet his gaze.

“Yeah... I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, alright?” He runs a hand over his face. “I'm just... drunk, I don't know what I'm doing... You should go.”

Michael stares at him, because he's not _that_ drunk. Not drunk enough to make such a bizarre, random decision out of nowhere – if anything he's on that verge of tipsy where you lose your inhibitions and do things you want to but wouldn't sober. Things you normally don't let yourself think about let alone act on.

He realises suddenly that he doesn't know a fucking thing about what Gavin is thinking. What he feels about the others, or where this was meant to be going. What this was meant to be; some sort of confession of Gavin's latent feelings for him or...?

And he doesn't know, either, what he _himself_ is feeling – about Gavin, about all of this – because he's pretty fucking mixed up as well.

 _We should sort this out_ , he thinks, because leaving now will just mean nothing but awkwardness later on.

But Gavin's still not looking at him – has picked up the bottle again because apparently he thinks that drinking _even fucking more_ is any sort of solution to this situation – and he obviously does not want to talk about it and Michael-

Michael doesn't really want to talk about it either, if only because he's already so mixed up about how he feels about Ray and he's afraid, almost, to start having to question how he feels about _Gavin_ too.

And it's a bit too late for that now, the damage is done, but he can put it off at least for now. So he does. Gets up off the bed and opens his mouth but doesn't know what to say, so doesn't say anything. Gavin doesn't look up as he quietly leaves the room.

The cold air outside hits him like a slap in the face. He walks back to his own room and pauses, leaning against the door. He can hear the others talking faintly over on the wall and closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the chilly wood.

 _What the fuck_ , he thinks, and takes deep breaths, sobering by the second. He'd honestly rather be drunk right now because his head is whirling and he has too much, too much, too much to think about and suddenly the comfortable ease of a future he had half-dreamed up in his head – the six of them sticking together, working together – is shattered because this-

This is complicated. This is complicated and it's going to get messy and messy is when groups start to fall apart and suddenly, suddenly all of his worst fears are back and he doesn't know what to do.

—

Ryan comes back in later that night. Michael hasn't slept. He's been lying awake with his thoughts for hours but hasn't come to any sort of conclusion. Just general worry churning in his stomach.

It hit him at some point that he should probably tell Ryan what happened.

Because they're together, right? Sort of? And that's... that's the sort of thing you should tell your partner. If you kissed somebody else.

The odd fear – _what if he thinks I was cheating on him_ – except they never discussed this, whether they were exclusive or not, and he knows Ryan's fair enough to know that it wasn't cheating but there's a lurking worry there anyway and when Ryan finally steps into the room, his heart starts pounding and he feels vaguely sick.

“How was it?” he asks. It comes out very strained, which makes Ryan catch on immediately, stepping forward to sit next to him in the dim candlelight room.

“Fine. Nothing approached so Geoff's just hanging out there now, he's gonna wake up Jack to take over in a bit. What's up with you?” He frowns a bit, leaning closer. “Have you been drinking?”

Michael nods, swallowing. “I... yeah. Had a few with Gavin and he...” he trails off, nervous, but Ryan is looking at him softly – no judgment in his eyes – and he has always been so kind that Michael can't help but feel encouraged to continue. “He kissed me.”

Ryan's eyes widen, taken aback. When he doesn't answer immediately Michael barrels on.

“I didn't – I didn't kiss back but I didn't stop him either and... I don't know. We haven't talked about this but I kind of fucking assumed we were together and – I thought you might want to know. It didn't mean anything. He was bevved, I was too, we... we weren't thinking straight.”

“Michael,” Ryan says gently, leaning in and grabbing his flailing hands. “It's okay.”

“And I don't- what? It's okay?” Michael asks, and Ryan nods, settling to sit on the bed beside him.

“It's okay,” Ryan repeats. “You're right. We never talked about it. And even if I assumed we were exclusive as well, it's... it's _Gavin_ , you know? It feels different somehow. Same as if it was Ray, or any of the others.”

“Wait, what the fuck does that mean? It's different?”

“I don't know.” Ryan sounds embarrassed now, a bit hesitant. “Surely... surely you've felt it too? There's _something_ going on. With all of us. Or maybe I'm just being stupid-”

“No. You're not.” It's a relief to hear he's not on his own with all this. “So you're not mad.”

“No, I'm not mad.” Ryan reaches out, hand curling around the back of Michael's head as he pulls him in for a kiss of his own, his fingers tangling gently in his hair. Michael closes his eyes and kisses back, relaxes into the familiar soft working of Ryan's lips against his own.

“Wait,” he says when they pull apart. “So you're saying you... and the others...”

“I haven't done anything with them,” Ryan says. He tugs at Michael's arm until he's lying back against the bed with him, head pillowed on Ryan's shoulder. “Or even talked about it. But I... I've seen how Ray looks at us. And how Jack and Geoff do too. And how Gavin looks at Ray, and Jack, and Geoff – and you.”

“And _you_ ,” Michael adds, thinking back on it now, and lets out a huff of breath. “Man this is fucked up.”

“Fucked up in a bad way?”

“In a complicated way.” But complicated is bad, here and now, when fights and fallout and any sort of discord in a group can mean death. He feels terribly overwhelmed suddenly and while on the one hand he's glad Ryan's tangled up in all this with him – at least he has company, at least he can talk to someone – it also makes things much messier with him involved as well.

There's a moment of peculiar silence in which they both know they need to talk about this. Talk about how they feel about Ray, and all the others, and what they can do about it, and what they're going to _have_ to do about it.

But Michael still wants to put it off, to just block it from his mind just for tonight, at least. To sleep on it and hope things look better in the morning, and Ryan takes one look at him and seems to understand that.

“No matter what happens there'll still be us,” Ryan murmurs, and Michael nods, reassured, and turns his face up to kiss Ryan again before huddling in close to his side, closing his eyes as Ryan leans over to blow out the candle on the side table. At least for now he has one constant – Ryan – and he lets the confusion of the others wash away for now, letting it be just the two of them for tonight.

—

—

The morning does not make things much better.

Michael is less panicked but has more of a lurking unease. Unsure where he stands with the others. He wakes up the next morning and rises before Ryan can, busying himself doing a supply count so they don't have time to stop and talk. He doesn't see Gavin all morning - “Nursing a hangover,” Jack tells him – and when they finally do meet that afternoon it's when they're both grabbing lunch from the billy of baked beans boiling over their little campfire.

“Hi,” Gavin says, very awkwardly. He obviously remembers everything that happened last night.

“Hi,” Michael replies, equally stilted. Gavin forces something like a smile and Michael realises they're obviously going to try and pretend this never happened, which usually he would be all for, except Gavin – while beginning to cheerily babble on, something about some horror story he read about deadly bacteria getting into dented tin cans – is very careful not to touch him when he gets his food, or look him in the eye too long when they sit down together, at a careful distance apart.

He feels a little sick.

He goes out that afternoon with Jack and Geoff to check the highway again. They're oddly quiet as well and Michael finds himself wondering what exactly Gavin said in response to their proposal.

It can't have been anything good if he decided getting smashed afterwards was a good idea.

The highway is mostly empty– the zombies have been moving on more and more the last few days – and the weather is clearing up as well. Geoff lets out a thoughtful hum.

“I think we might be able to move on tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Michael repeats, and Geoff glances at him, nodding.

“Yeah. You okay with that?”

“I guess so,” Michael says. He isn't sure what he wants. Whether hanging around the motor inn would be better than moving on with their journey. Either way they're gonna be forced to hash things out eventually.

They go back and tell the others, and begin to pack their things.

Michael's on watch while the others start packing and when Geoff comes to relieve him he's passing Ray's room when he pauses.

He feels a sudden terrible pang of guilt, because even without all this stuff going on between all six of them, Ray still likes Gavin and Michael suddenly feels like a dick for not stopping Gavin kissing him when he knows that's what _Ray_ wants.

It feels too much like keeping a guilty secret to not tell him, and he only hesitates for a second to push the door open.

Ray's nearly finished packing and he turns in surprise when Michael enters the room, but he doesn't have time to so much as get a word out before Michael starts spilling his guts. Manages to keep his voice remarkably level even if he feels like dying inside the whole time. It's undercut with a lot of “I'm really fucking sorry” and “I know I should have stopped him” and “I'm not here to get in the way of this” before Ray holds up a hand and then steps forward, reaching out to squeeze Michael's shoulder.

“Michael. Stop freaking out.”

Michael's mouth snaps shut, surprised by his calmness.

“I don't-”

“It's fine, dude, just stop working yourself up over it.”

“Did you hear what I just said? He _kissed_ me.”

“I know. I heard you the first time. And the second, and the third,” Ray adds, something like a smile tugging at his lips. Michael stares at him, confused.

“I don't get it? You told me that you liked him, that-”

“And I do,” Ray replies. “But I get what you're saying. He was drunk. He was upset about what Jack and Geoff told him – didn't know what he wanted to do – and it isn't exactly a shock to me that he'd want to kiss you.”

“Okay, what the fuck does that mean?” Michael demands. He starts to pull his arm away but Ray holds tighter, standing his ground, even if his voice is oddly, artificially calm now.

“We've talked about a lot of things, Michael. Me and Gav. We're close. He's... told me stuff.”

“Like _what_?” Michael asks, a bit hysterically. “That he's fucking into me or something?”

“Something like that,” Ray admits, and then sighs, pressing his lips together. “It's... confusing, you know? Nowadays? There are so few people left and even fewer you trust and it's... it's hard to work out what you feel, when you do find people. When you're trapped in such a sucky world and the only good things left are your friends you can start... wondering how you really feel about them.”

He's looking at Michael but _not looking_ at him, not quite meeting his eyes and there's something in his voice that gives Michael pause. Like he's not just talking about Gavin anymore. Michael's heart is pounding so hard that it's starting to make him feel sick.

“So I get why he might be attracted to you,” Ray continues. “To _all_ of you. Why it might get confusing for him.”

It's true. All that he's said is true because you cling to what little you have nowadays, you hold it as close as possible. It happened with him and Ryan and-

And all the rest of them, they're what little Michael has now.

“If you think I'm about to fly into a jealous rage you're wrong,” Ray finishes, “So don't work yourself up about it.”

His words are reassuring but he looks worried, still, under his facade of calm, and Michael bites his lip. Ray's as good as admitted now that he's in on what's been going on between everyone, and this thing with Gavin has spring boarded things, forced them to face up to reality.

And if he's scared about it, he can't even imagine what Ray – solitary, distrustful Ray- must be feeling.

He doesn't know if he should ask Ray how he feels about he and Ryan. Or say how _he_ feels about him – or if not talk, then act on it, with all this hanging in the air between them now then it would be so easy to just step forward and... and press their lips together and see what happens, where that takes them, the same way it happened with Ryan.

Maybe once he would have.

But he doesn't know how it all works now that Gavin's involved, and since Gavin's involved then Jack and Geoff are too, by extension.

And he and Ryan may have never put labels on anything but everything is getting so mixed up now. He can't just assume Ryan is okay with... with.... with whatever the fuck this is, turning it all into some giant gay orgy or whatever – he doesn't know.

He's silent for too long and something awkward rises up between them. Ray seems to realise that Michael's _noticed –_ noticed that there's something deeper in what he's saying. That his hand is still on Michael's shoulder, has been there for just a little too long. He sees and he pulls back immediately, face closing off again and obviously – obviously he doesn't want to talk about it and-

This is it. This is what he's been afraid of. He and Ryan and Ray were doing so well, the three of them. No fights and no barriers and no awkwardness but now, now there are too many feelings involved, too much is changing and Michael is suddenly _terrified_ that things are going to go wrong because of this.

“Ray,” he starts, voice a bit choked. “Are you-”

“Am I what?” Ray demands, sounding as suspicious and hostile as he did when they first met. And maybe he can admit to falling for Gavin but not, it seems, Ryan and Michael, and-

Michael takes a step back and then – coward that he is – he leaves without answering, because ha ha ha who needs communication, he just need some space, needs to get out and clear his head.

He doesn't get far.

Jack and Geoff are just coming out of their room and the second they see him they beckon him over. Michael hesitates, but he can't exactly get out of it and they're already coming towards him.

“Michael,” Geoff says. There's brightness in his tone but it's forced. Michael can tell he looks worried. “We need to talk to you.”

“Sure,” Michael says, voice a bit strained. “What's up?”

“It's about the city,” Jack says quietly. “What's going to happen when we get there.”

“Oh.” A week ago he was almost certain that he wanted them all to stay together. Now he's not sure – things are changing too much and the prospect of all becoming one big group has brought all his trust issues back again. Because he remembers how things fell apart in his old group. Two guys having a conflict over one woman – that ended in one of them shooting the other – and another group, when the couple in charge split up and the group split up with them – relationships make things messy and he can already tell things here are going to go either way. They'll all fall apart or...

Or...

Or they'll come together, somehow, in a way he's not quite ready to think about yet.

Maybe he's a pessimist or maybe he's just seen too much shit, but he can't quite bring himself to hope that things will work out fine.

“I was talking to Gav the other day,” Geoff says – hesitantly, and Michael stiffens. “And I, uh... maybe have accidentally spooked him a bit. I don't think he's going to come with us.”

“What?”

“By 'us' I mean Jack and I. On our own together. If we do split up,” Geoff says. “But if we don't – if you three want to come with Jack and I – I think Gavin might stay then. If it's all six of us. So are you in?”

“I don't know,” Michael replies. “I'm starting to think that maybe it's not such a good idea.”

Geoff and Jack exchange a worried look and Michael shifts uncomfortably.

“Why?” Jack asks. “Ryan told us the two of you were pretty sure you wanted to stick together.”

“I was,” Michael says. “But I thought about it more and just... I've been in big groups before. It doesn't usually work out.” And he had hoped this one would be different and part of him still wants to believe that but he just. Can't risk it. “I think maybe it might be better to just go our own ways. Maybe we'll still run into each other now and again like we did before.”

Jack looks stricken. Geoff just looks confused.

“If you do this Gavin will go off on his own,” Jack says. “He won't last out there.”

“Ray will go with him.”

“The fuck?!” Geoff cries. “Now _Ray_ 's leaving too? I thought you three at least would fucking stick together!”

“Things changed,” Michael says, but he's already starting to feel upset, and he doesn't want to argue about it anymore. He heads off back to his room and feels Geoff snatch at his sleeve at he goes, but pulls his arm away in time to avoid him.

—

He can't avoid Ryan.

He's just finished packing when the other man marches back into their room, practically slamming the door shut behind him. Michael jumps and whips around.

“Okay, why the fuck are Jack and Geoff now telling me that you don't want to stick around with them? I thought we'd decided on this!”

“I changed my mind,” Michael says stiffly. “I'm reconsidering.”

“Why? Isn't this something we should both talk about?” Ryan steps closer to him and Michael stares up at him, glaring more instinctively than anything else. “Is this about what happened with Gavin?”

“It's not just Gav,” Michael snaps. “It's everything. Before I thought maybe this could work. But this sort of shit, that's what made the groups I was in last time go to hell. So I... I need to wait, and see what happens, and think about this more.”

“Do I not get a vote then?”

“You can do whatever you fucking want,” Michael snaps, and Ryan glares back at him and he feels like he's going to throw up because _not Ryan, don't let me lose Ryan too_.

“We can work things out,” Ryan insists. And it's sweet, how he tries to always see the best in both people and things, but Michael just shakes his head.

“I don't know,” he says. That's the core of it. Doesn't know for sure how he feels, how the others feel, how this could work. Is too afraid of things falling apart to stop and think or talk about it.

Ryan's staring at him and Michael can't face his disapproval.

“I don't know,” he says again, and zips his bag shut, turning away.

—

—

—

They get back on the road.

It's a cold grey dawn when they set out, raining lightly. No one is talking to each other. The awkwardness of last night has carried over between all of them. Ray's barely looking at Michael. Jack and Geoff aren't talking to Gavin. Gavin's picked up on the tension and is avoiding all of them, keeping his head down.

Michael can't look at any of them either.

It's a far cry from the ease they had between them before. Further confirmation that _it's all ruined_.

The silence is tense. It's worse in the enclosed space. Michael's driving first and he keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him, the occasional slow slide of raindrops that the wipers missed rolling down the windscreen. The highway is empty and he drives at speed. The world zipping by around them is grey with the sun hidden behind the clouds. Everything looks colourless.

He is too aware of Ryan's presence in the passenger seat, his head leaning against the window. Looking outside, dismal, the others silent in the back behind them.

—

Geoff clears his throat after a few hours.

“Rotter,” he says, pointing out the small panel window at the back of the van. A single lonely figure shambles across a field in the distance.

“One point to the gents,” Michael murmurs, but there's little joy in it, and none of the others respond.

—

Jack takes his turn driving. Michael goes to sit in the back. There's more room with some of their supplies used up and he doesn't have to get close to anybody.

Ray passes him a slightly squashed box of biscuits. Their fingers brush a little and they both flinch. The box falls to the floor between them with a very sad small thud.

—

Ryan falls asleep at some point, slumped between the van wall and the back of the passenger seat. After a moment Gavin leans forward and drapes a blanket over him. There's a funny small smile on his face when he sits back down and he watches Ryan a moment before seeming to catch himself and jerk his gaze away.

He falls asleep himself a little while later and it's Ray who gently tugs him into a more comfortable position. He's much less discreet with his staring, literally sitting there watching the other man sleep until he notices Michael watching _him_. He looks up and their eyes meet for a very awkward moment before Michael glances away and tries not to think of Ray leaving with Gavin – leaving them behind.

—

Night falls. Jack's driving and Michael's the only one awake.

“Michael,” Jack starts after a while.

Michael glances up at him in the rear view mirror.

“What happened?” Jack asks quietly. “I thought things were going well but you're all... I don't know.”

“I know what Geoff said to Gavin,” Michael replies, and Jack's eyes flicker away, expression unreadable. “And Gavin... and Ray and Ryan and me... it's complicated. And complicated is dangerous nowadays.”

“Being on your own is dangerous too,” Jack says after a minute, but Michael just raises and lowers one shoulder and rolls over, pretending to be asleep.

—

He takes his turn driving later that night. He thinks all the others are sleeping when Gavin's voice pipes up out of the darkness.

“Michael?”

“What?"

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, Gav,” Michael says, and suddenly feels very tired.

There's such a long silence that he thinks Gavin might have fallen asleep again. But he hears him then, mutter so quietly that Michael nearly thinks he's imagining it - “I told you I'd break things apart.”

—

Things are no better the next day. The highway seems to go on forever. They're travelling slowly because there are too many cars and bodies on the road, blocking their way, and it's hard to navigate through them. Michael doesn't like to look out the windows anymore, too many corpses and burnt out shells of vehicles where crashes and fires spread uncontrolled.

They stop for a toilet break and he gets back first to find Ryan – minding the van – waiting for him.

“We need to talk,” Ryan says sternly, the first words he's spoken directly to Michael in over a day.

Michael clenches his jaw and looks away. “Later.”

“ _Now_ ,” Ryan says, “We're getting closer to the city every day-”

But the others are already starting to arrive back and Michael takes the chance to make his escape. He feels Ryan watching him the rest of the day and hates the thought of his disapproval. Knows he's hurting Ryan, too, by pulling away. But he feels like he did back when he was walking by himself. Shutting everyone out. _Safer alone._

—

He comes to a weird self realisation later that day while watching Gavin sharpen a knife. The other man is obviously deep in thought, in a sullen silence swiping his blade vigorously back and force. Every time he does Michael winces a bit, expecting him to accidentally cut himself.

Gavin's words from last night swim in his head – _are you mad at me_ – the fact that he asked Michael and not Geoff or Jack has him suddenly thinking _fuck, I'm the problem here_ -

Because it really was him who made things awkward. It's _his_ trust issues that are holding everyone back. He's the one who doesn't want them all to stay together, who doesn't want to talk about it.

It's a pressure that bears down on his shoulders and makes him feel so, so tired suddenly. He curls in on himself where he's sitting on the floor of the van, against the wall, and looks up to find Ryan watching Ray thoughtfully. Like if Michael won't sort things out with him he'll go to Ray instead and-

 _I'm the problem here,_ he thinks again. _It's on me to fix this_.

—

—

Before he can fix anything, the van breaks down.

It starts acting up for a little while first – the clock stops working, then the headlights (“We need more headlight fluid,” is Gavin's expert analysis, which receives a chorus of ' _Shut the fuck up_ 's that is the most communication any of them has had all day). They vaguely begin to look out for another vehicle but they're on an emptier stretch of highway now and there's nothing that looks usable.

And then, at last, the engine just cuts out. They roll to a stop and stare at each other in alarm.

“Well fuck,” Geoff says.

—

They're stuck standing around the road in the open. Michael and Ray have their guns out, watching their surroundings.

Geoff slams the hood shut. “Not the engine. I think it might be the battery. But we don't have jumper cables or anything.”

“There isn't another car for miles around,” Ryan says, frowning.

A glum silence overtakes them.

“How far to the city?” Jack asks.

Geoff pulls out the map and spreads it out on the car's hood. They crowd around to look.

“Not too far,” he says. “Few days' walk if we cut through the forest. I think we might have to risk it. There's not really any other option. Fucking annoying.”

Michael looks over at Ryan and Ray – more automatically than anything else – they exchange glances and he can see that they look worried, but they have little other choice. It isn't like he hasn't spent months walking between towns before.

“Seems like we don't have much of a choice,” he says, and sighs. “Let's grab the supplies then.”

They can't carry it all. Water is the priority, but it's heavy, and the filter they have isn't small enough to be reasonably portable. Still, they take what they can, dividing food and ammo up between them. When they finally slam the van doors shut Michael feels almost a little sad. It was a good vehicle.

“Into the forest then,” Ray mutters, and drops back beside Gavin as they start walking.

—

Michael's always preferred travelling on or near the roads. He feels a bit aimless moving through the trees, although Geoff seems to know what he's doing with the map.

If they'd been talking or making conversation it wouldn't be so bad, but their silence has everything in the forest seeming ominously louder. The wind rustling the tree branches, the occasional haunting bird call. Every snap of a twig making Michael tense.

They're following a rough dirt trail through the forest. About a kilometre along, the path they're travelling becomes blocked by a large fallen tree and they're forced to redirect around into the woods.

—

They walk for almost a day and the sun is just starting to sink when the fight breaks out.

It starts with Ryan, who's been trudging silently by Michael's side. Jack and Geoff have pulled ahead a bit, and Ray and Gavin are far enough behind that they have enough privacy for Ryan to lean in and say, quietly, “We need to _talk_.”

“About what?” Michael hisses back, although he knows perfectly well.

“About how you have about three fucking days left to make your mind up,” Ryan starts to snap, then stops, taking a few deep breaths.

“I'm not angry, Michael,” he says, more gently. “I just... what can I say to help reassure you that things aren't going to go horribly wrong?”

“ _Look at us_ ,” Michael snaps back. Exhaustion and stress has him irritable. “They're already going horribly wrong!”

“We could fix all that if we all just _talked about this_ ,” Ryan begins.

“Talked about what?” Jack cuts in. He and Geoff have stopped walking and Michael didn't notice – they've caught up to them now. Both having heard. Ray and Gavin too, at some point they picked up the pace and they're looking between the four others cautiously.

“None of your business,” Michael says, but Geoff steps forward, frowning at him.

“It is if it's about what's happening when we get to the city,” he replies, testily. “What is this, Michael, why do you suddenly not want to come with us any more?”

Michael looks away. He doesn't want to admit any of this in front of everyone else. His feelings for all of them. Their feelings for him. What happened with Gavin, with Ray.

It's Gavin who pipes up though.

“It's me,” he says, voice distressed. He's not looking at any of them. “It was me, I ruined things.”

Jack glances at him and seems to catch on.

“Michael,” he says, “What happened with Gavin is nothing to do with you. It's between Geoff and me and him. And we'll sort it out between us if we all stay together-”

“This isn't about what happened with _you_ and Gavin,” Ryan cuts in, and Jack shoots him a confused look.

“I don't think staying together is a good idea either,” Gavin says, upset but determined. “I told you, I just fuck things up, I fucked things up _here_ and I'm just breaking it all apart. I'm fine on my own. You lot stay together.”

“I don't want Gavin to go off on his own,” Michael snaps, because he doesn't want to lose _Ray_ if that happens, except Ray is frowning now.

“But what?” Ray demands. “You don't want Jack and Geoff to stick with us either?”

“What, you _do_?” Michael snaps back, starting to get annoyed now, “Is that what you fucking want, Ray, all of us in one big group? Because it sure seems like you're committed to leaving us all behind lately.”

Ray flinches a bit. “What are you talking about?”

It's not true – Ray never said that – Michael knows he's lashing out at him because he's so guarded, because he doesn't know what Ray's thinking and that's part of the problem. He wants Ray to stay – he wants Ray to be with him and Ryan – but Ray's not giving him much to go on here and-

“ _Michael_ ,” Ryan cuts in, exasperated. It seems he's tired of dancing around the subject because he takes a deep breath and says, “Let's all be honest here, okay? We all know what this is about. The six of us are... I don't know, we all want to. To stick together and maybe be together.”

“Wow, okay,” Geoff says. “Ryan bringing up the blatant sexual tension we've all been trying to ignore.” His smile is almost mocking; there's something harder behind his eyes and Michael realises he's not the only one who's scared of this.

“Look,” Ryan says, “We need to say it or it'll just keep hanging over us.” No one attempts to argue with the truth of it. “ _None_ of us know what we're doing, alright, Michael? It's not just you. And that's okay. We'll work it out.”

Michael's breathing heavily now but Ryan knows best, as he always does. Having said it out loud, acknowledged it, removes some of the fear and confusion from his mind.

Jack and Geoff are looking at them almost nervously. Ray's face is hard as stone again, but he's watching intently, like he knows they need to talk about this too.

“Look, you got me,” Jack says finally. “I don't quite know what's happening yet but I sure as hell want to stick with all of you. _All_ of you,” he adds, turning to Gavin. “Gav, Geoff shouldn't have made that offer to you out of the blue like that. I know it spooked you. But if we're all together you'll stay, right?”

Gavin just shakes his head.

“Stop asking me, _please_ ,” he says. “You know I don't-”

“Look, Abandonment Issues,” Geoff cuts in, evidently frustrated by how much they keep going in circles. “ _We are going to work things out_. You know you _want_ to stay so stop insisting on leaving just because you believe in some fucking curse.”

Gavin flinches and Ray steps towards him defensively.

“Geoff you're not helping,” Jack says quietly.

Ryan looks more determined, now that everything's out in the open. “I want to work things out too, it seems like we all do. Geoff's right, why keep shying away from it. Because we're scared, we're all scared, but we don't have to be, we can make things work-”

“ _We can't_ ,” Michael bursts out, so loudly their heads all snap around to look at him. He feels dizzy, like he's being torn in half, pulled between his desire to believe Ryan and every other part of him screaming to stop this because “It doesn't, it doesn't, it _doesn't work_ , okay? I've seen this before, true fucking love or whatever the fuck you think this is is not gonna overcome all this. _This_ is gonna end in misery, _this_ is gonna end in _everyone_ getting hurt. What is it you want, six people in one fucking relationship – that's not a _thing_ , not when things were safe and not now when _everything_ has gone to shit. You want us to be a group, what the hell sort of group is that, one where everyone's _fucking_ each other-”

“Well it's certainly one means of conflict resolution,” Ray mutters – Michael ignores him.

“When we fall apart – and we're _going_ to fall apart – it's going to hurt. Hell, it _already_ hurts. So that's why, okay, we can't stay together. Let's just... let's just make it how it was before. We're all just friends, in our own little groups, because if we try this out and it doesn't work.... you can't take chances nowadays. Maybe once you could but not now. You just can't. Okay?”

There's a stunned silence after his outburst. Michael's breathing heavily, staring around at the others, almost daring them to disagree. He can't meet Ryan's eyes.

There's a slight motion beside him and he turns to see Gavin nodding, slowly, in agreement. Their eyes meet and he can see that Gavin looks terrified, the pain in them. He's obviously on Michael's side and Michael suddenly doesn't know what to do about him.

 _He understands_ , he knows, _he's so scared too_ – but hasn't he thought it's so silly, this whole time, this idea of a curse? That it's just Gavin's past traumas getting in the way of him seeing that this time it might be different-

_This time it might be different._

Isn't he doing the exact same thing now?

(Isn't he, maybe, just being one giant fucking _hypocrite_ -)

“Michael.” Ryan's voice is soft and almost pained, and when Michael finally looks up at him, he can see it in his eyes, that gentle understanding that's calmed him a hundred times over before.

Ryan steps towards him, hand reaching out to touch him, and Michael is torn between stepping back or letting him-

When a familiar groan rings out behind them and he snaps to attention, alarm rising up at the sound of it.

“Biter,” Gavin says, drawing his knife.

Michael turns to see two of them shambling out from the trees, drawn by the shouting, it seems.

Two's easy enough for them to handle and Ray's already stepping forward with a sigh.

“I got it.”

Michael moves to take on the other one, knife in hand. There's something vicious in the way he grabs the zombie by the hair and stabs it through the skull, wrenching the knife free with a savage yank. It feels good to destroy something, to let some of the nervous energy that's built up in him fritter out.

The zombie falls but another flicker of movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention. He turns and freezes.

What he had thought was a tangle of fallen trees and bushes nearby – likely from the same storm that knocked a tree over the road – has, in fact, been concealing a pile of zombies trapped below, which now, stirred by the noise and movement, are beginning to struggle out and crawl towards them.

“Shit – _shit_ ,” he snaps, backing away. The others have noticed now too and Geoff lets out a low curse. He grabs Gavin's arm and yanks him towards him.

“Get over here. Back to back, don't spread out,” he orders.

They form a circle the way they do on routine scavenges when facing off against more than half a dozen zombies. _Don't let them come at you from behind._

There's more than he expected at first glance; he's seen this before – when one dead starts moving, others that were lying inert will follow. Mob mentality.

“Come on, we got this,” Geoff shouts, and Michael's fear settles a little with Ryan on one side of him and Jack on the other.

The zombies saunter forward, coming at them from all sides. Michael darts forward, takes one down efficiently then steps back into line. Another moves forward – repeat the process, huffing short sharp breaths through his nose; his backpack is heavy and restricts his movements a little, making each swing more of an effort.

The others are going through the same motions beside him. Step forward, attack, retreat, moving fluidly together like parts of a machine and for a while, for a while it's going well and Michael almost thinks they can make it-

Then a fresh wave of zombies appear from through the trees, roused by the noise, groaning and snarling-

 _Too many_ , Michael registers vaguely.

One lurches towards him; it's big, a tall, heavyset man, and he slashes at it, meaning to get it through the eye, but it swerves at the last minute and he misses. His blade cuts through part of its jaw and gets stuck, wrenching from his hand as the zombie turns.

He barely has time to say “Fuck!” before it's upon him again, lunging at him with a snarl. His hands come up to ward it off, and they grapple for a moment as he struggles to hold it away from him. This close he can smell its breath, stinking of carrion, can see the burst vessels in its dead eyes and each spot of decomposition on the mottled skin. He tries to grab for his knife – wedged in its cheek – but can't get a grip on it.

By now he's been knocked out of the circle and he can see the others have broken apart too. Ray on his own facing off two zombies nearby, Ryan darting forward to dispatch another, Geoff and Gavin backing up against a few advancing towards them.

The heavy zombie thrashes and gets one arm free, grabbing Michael's shoulder and bearing down on him. With a shout he stumbles back, nearly falling under its weight, and panic rips through him when he feels teeth close around his arm-

Bang!

The zombie crumples forward and falls onto him, knocking him to the ground. For a moment he can't breathe – the wind punched out of him and the zombie's weight crushing down on his chest – then he gasps in a heaving breath.

_Fuck, fuck, am I bit?_

His arm doesn't hurt and he lifts it up – the teeth didn't get through his jacket, thank God.

“Michael,” he hears someone call, and with great effort he rolls the heavy body from on top of him and scrambles to his feet. Jack's pointing a gun towards him – he was the one who shot the thing, it seems – and Michael looks around to find that with the circle broken too many zombies are moving in around them.

There's a hiss to his left and he whirls around in time to see another undead coming at him from the side. He grabs for his knife, realises it isn't there, and kicks it back instead, knocking it to the ground. His boot comes down heavy on its skull. It's decomposed enough that it smashes under the blow like he's stepped on a grape.

“There's too many!” Geoff shouts. “Split up, we'll let them scatter and meet back at that fallen tree.”

Michael does not like this plan, he does not like it at all, but there's little choice. He reaches to pull his knife from the skull of the other zombie but it's jammed tight and it's not coming out. Another gunshot rings out near him and he flinches. Turns to see that Jack's shot another that was advancing on him.

“Come on!” Jack says, jerking his head towards the tree line. Michael jogs after him and glances over his shoulder in time to see the others fleeing in different directions – Ryan just disappearing into the undergrowth.

Something uneasy lurks in his stomach at watching them all disappear. But Jack is still there, beside him.

They start to run.

—

Zombies are slow but relentless. About four are after them but if they shoot them the sound will draw more.

It's hard to run in the forest. Michael stumbles, tripping over uneven ground and protruding tree roots. It's been a while since he's run for his life. His chest hurts but it's not from exhaustion. He misses Ryan's constant presence by his side.

Misses Ray too.

—

They draw away a bit.

“Let's stop and wait here,” Jack says, panting for breath as he slumps back against a tree. “If they still head this way we'll stop and take them out. Two each.”

Michael nods, stopping to get his breath back too. It's getting dark now, the sun sinking steadily away below the trees. He has a torch in his bag but the thought of being out here at night is unsettling.

“Do you know where we are?” he asks, and Jack pulls a face that is not very reassuring.

—

Only one of the zombies ends up coming by. They take it down together, Michael distracting it while Jack comes up behind and gets his knife through its ear. There's no sign of the other three but Michael hears the occasional rustle in the bushes that makes him freeze, afraid.

It must have been over an hour since they split up. He wonders where the others are in the forest. If they're alone or if a couple of them stuck together.

If they're okay.

Jack comes up next to him. The temperature dropped with the sun but he's standing close enough that Michael can feel the warmth of his arm against his shoulder.

“Let's head back,” he says, and Michael nods.

They start tracked back towards where they were when they got attacked. Now that the adrenaline and fear of the attack has calmed down Michael thinks back on his outburst and feels suddenly almost embarrassed. Everyone is upset but he knows he's been the one making things worse.

“Do you think the others are okay?” Jack asks, quietly after a moment, and Michael hesitates then nods.

“I'm sure they're fine. Ray can take care of himself. Ryan too.”

“I think I saw Geoff and Gavin run off together,” Jack says, and Michael nods again. That information is reassuring, that neither of those two are alone.

There's an awkward pause and Michael can tell Jack is itching to say something.

“Spit it out,” he says, sighing, and Jack glances down at him.

“You're scared,” he says quietly. “I get it. But you need a better reason than that. Do you have any reason – any at all – for not sticking with us, apart from that you're afraid of something that might not even happen?”

“It's already happening,” Michael starts, but Jack shakes his head.

“Only because we're letting it. Look, Michael... I don't know what you've seen out there. I do know just about everyone in this world has a good reason for not trusting people. But you... you trust _us,_ don't you?”

He can't say no. Not when Jack saved his life. Not when it's not only Ray and Ryan he's worried about out there.

“Gavin's afraid of getting close to people,” Jack continues then. “But it's too late for that. He's already close to us. Even if he leaves now, voluntarily... he won't be happy. That will still hurt him, and it'll still hurt us, so why _not_ stay, why not try? You have to know that splitting up won't work. We'd miss you and I'd like to think you'd miss us too. I know Ryan would.”

“Yeah,” is all Michael can say.

“What you said before? About not being able to just take chances on stuff anymore? I don't agree,” Jack says. “Hell, Geoff and I took a chance on each other. You did with Ryan. This... this thing, the six of us... remember what I said to you a while ago? About how there's no one around to judge it now? There are no rules any more. No expectations we need to follow. If it feels right then... then why not try? And if we _don't_ try these things, then what the fuck are we still living for? Day after day of killing zombies and eating terrible canned food? I don't think so.”

Michael thinks suddenly of Ryan and what he said. How he kept picking people up again and again until he found Michael. How all his own days of walking alone melted into each other until he met Ryan. And then Ray. And then all the others. It feels less like the world's ended with them around.

“If we stay,” he begins, unsure.

“If we stay,” Jack replies, “It's not like we're going to jump into anything. If something happens, it happens. If anything goes wrong, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But let us at least have the _chance.”_

It's dark enough now that they have to stop and get their torches out. Michael turns his on and in the dim beam he looks at Jack, who's staring at him earnestly. Kind sweet Jack who's made it this far. Who he finds it hard to imagine life without now.

He doesn't want to leave him behind.

He thinks of how they worked together facing off those zombies. How without the others there he and Ryan and Ray would probably have been surrounded and picked off in seconds.

And what's changed since he first made up his mind that he wanted to give this a shot? Nothing except the possibility that they might end up as more than just a group of friends – he's scared of that but the others are too, and like Jack said.

They're not going to jump into anything.

He gives Jack a small smile and Jack smiles back, relieved, sensing that he's at least nudged him to think about it.

“For what it's worth,” Jack says, “I really would miss you if you went.”

“For what it's worth,” Michael replies, “I'd miss you too.”

—

It's dark and cold in the forest. They get lost twice. Michael hates it here, hates not knowing what's out there, the unfamiliarity of the terrain compared to the streets and roads of the city.

After a while he feels something nudge against his hand. Jack doesn't look at him but Michael feels his fingers slip into his. He doesn't say anything but he doesn’t let go either.

—

“That you Jack?”

When Geoff's voice rings out through the darkness Michael could nearly sob in relief. They'd gotten so lost trying to get back to the fallen tree that he'd almost thought they'd never find it, and they kept hearing noises in the dark.

“It's us,” Jack calls back, sheer relief in his tone too. They can see the light of the others' torches where they're gathered around the log and as they approach Michael makes out Geoff – jogging towards him – Ryan right beside him – Ray and Gavin sitting on the tree behind them.

 _All of them. They're all okay_. He feels almost lightheaded and when Ryan slams into him he clings to him, his legs nearly giving out under him.

“You're alright, you're alright,” Ryan murmurs, hugging him tightly. Michael squeezes back – they haven't been separated like that in a long time – he can feel Ryan's heart pounding where his cheek is pressed to the other's chest.

“So are you,” he replies. His voice cracks a little. Ryan pulls back and grasps his face, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. In the corner of his eye he can see Geoff and Jack doing the same.

When they draw apart Ray has come up to their side and he pulls Michael in for a hug too.

“You're late as fuck,” he says, voice muffled where his face is pressed into Michael's shoulder. “We've been waiting here for like an hour.” The unspoken _I was worried about you_ hangs between them.

“Totally didn't get horribly lost,” Michael replies, with a slightly hysterical laugh. “Totally didn't spend like twenty minutes walking in circles. That wasn't a thing that happened.”

Ray laughs too, and they start to pull apart but he's still holding onto Michael. Their eyes meet and there's a funny moment where a buzzing sort of tension settles over them and Michael catches Ray's eyes flicker sideways, over to Gavin, before his lips press together and he seems to think _fuck it_ and pulls Michael in again, their mouths meeting with a slightly awkward clash of teeth.

Michael lets out a surprised little _mmph_ but it feels so _right_ that he can't help but kiss back. There's something different in kissing Ray to how it was with Ryan and Gavin. His lips move roughly against Michael's; there's a hesitance to it like he's not quite sure if he's doing things right. It's just so _Ray_ , the clumsiness of the kiss compared to how steady and warm his hands are on Michael's arms, and in that moment it feels like something has fallen into place.

When they break apart he can feel all the others watching but he doesn't look at them, just stares up at Ray, who looks a little nervous now, lips red and face flushed.

“I, uh... had a bit of a talk with Ryan while we were waiting for you,” he says quietly.

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Ray says, and then, “Was that... okay?”

“It's more than okay,” Michael replies, because it _was_ , and he sees Ray grin then, wide and relieved.

“Would be a bit awkward if not,” he says, and Michael laughs, and turns away then to find Gavin hovering by his side. “Alright Gav?”

“Fine,” Gavin replies, and reaches out to press his arm. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“We're all okay,” Michael says, and looks around at them all and then back at Gavin. “Everyone's still here.”

Gavin gives a small smile. Geoff steps forward then.

“We took down most of them but these woods are creepy as fuck here in the dark. Let's find a place to set up camp and then wait until morning.”

—

Michael falls back with Ray as they walk, close enough that their hands brush a little every now and then. It's Ray who finally speaks first, after long moments of silence save for the crunching of dry leaves and twigs under their feet.

“I was on my own out there,” Ray says quietly. “I know I'm used to it. But after being together with you guys for so long... you get used to being with other people too. Do you really not want to stay together?”

“Of course that's not what I want,” Michael replies.

“But you're afraid,” Ray says, and Michael looks away. “I get it. I was too.”

Michael kicks at the leaves on the ground ahead of him. “I talked with Jack. I know it's stupid, but I've just... seen so many things go wrong. I was scared of that happening to us.”

“Me too,” Ray replies. “But I'm starting to learn that maybe taking chances on people can pay off.”

“Yeah.”

There's a pause. Michael looks up ahead; Geoff and Jack are in the lead, and he can see little of them save for the bright light of their torches in the darkness. A short way ahead of them Gavin and Ryan are walking side by side, close together.

Ray clears his throat a little. “So this, uh... you and me and Ryan...”

“We can work it out,” Michael says. “If we all stay.”

“I was hoping you'd say that,” Ray says, but looks a little concerned about it. “About Gavin...”

“I get it,” Michael tells him. “It was easier for you to tell me how you felt about him than how you felt about us. But I... I think Ryan is okay with this and I am too and. I don't know. Maybe we can work it out. I mean three is already pretty fucking unconventional so why the fuck not make it four.” _Or six_. “We won't know unless we try I guess.”

Ray grins at him and Michael realises he's pretty much just echoing what Ryan and Jack said before – what he himself argued so determinedly against. “Well I'm glad you came to your fucking senses.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I mean it though,” Ray says, and gives a nervous laugh. “I've been freaking out internally for a while now too, so. I get it.”

“I know you do,” Michael replies, and gives him a small smile. Ray smiles back, reaching out to touch Michael's wrist before he moves off up ahead to join Gavin. Ryan glances at him then falls back and takes his place beside Michael.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Michael replies, and looks away. “Sorry for being an ass the last few days.”

“It's fine,” Ryan says. He reaches out and grabs Michael's hand, squeezing gently. “Remember what I said? That no matter what happens there'll still be you and me?”

“Yeah.”

“I meant it. If this isn't what you want...”

“I know you meant it,” Michael assures him. “But you're right. Everything you were saying before is right. We should try this. It's hard to remember sometimes but not everything now is bad.” He pauses. “Like what we did in bed the other night, that was certainly-”

“Okaaay,” Ryan cuts in, and laughs a bit, Michael laughing too. The pause this time is companionable, their hands slotted easily together.

“Ray's gonna talk to Gavin,” Ryan says then. “But I think you should too.”

Michael nods. The gents are great but it's himself and Ray who let this world affect them more, who fell into the sort of paranoia that comes with being burned one too many times. And Gavin knows that and that's why he stands a better chance of getting through to him.

“Okay,” he says.

—

They stop in a little clearing and build a campfire, keeping it small and low. It still feels dangerous out here in the open, the woods stretching out dark and menacing around the fringes of the circle of light, but Michael feels safer with all the others there.

Ryan makes a good pillow and Michael sits leaning against him watching the embers jump and spark. After a little while Ray comes over and curls in on Ryan's other side. It feels right with him there too.

—

Gavin is sitting alone, only just within the circle of firelight. He's hunched over, turned away from them, looking at something. When Michael walks over to him he doesn't so much as move, even when Michael sits beside him and looks over his shoulder.

It's a picture of a young man. Not a proper photograph, it's an ID of some sort; the name's smudged away so Michael can't see tell what it is. He thinks it might be the soldier he saw Gavin with right back at the beginning but it's been so long and the picture's so small that he can't remember.

Gavin's thumb runs gently over the ID, rubbing off some smudges of dirt.

“I keep letting myself care about people,” he says, not looking up.

“That's not a bad thing,” Michael replies quietly.

He lets out a soft snort. “Here and now it is.”

He turns over his shoulder and looks at the fire with something odd in his eyes, fingers tightening around the picture.

“Don't burn it,” Michael says. “You'll regret it later.”

He regrets not having any photos of his own. Everything was so digital nowadays that he kept it all on his phone. He doesn't so much as have a picture of his family.

“I know,” Gavin replies. There's a moment of silence and Michael lets his leg fall outwards so that his knee is bumping against Gavin's. Gavin doesn't pull away. He's still looking in the direction of the fire but angled more towards where Jack and Geoff are sitting, talking quietly a little way away.

“I saved Geoff's life,” Gavin says. “Back there when we were together. We were running and we got surprised by a biter and he got pinned down and nearly bit. I only just killed it in time. For a moment I thought he was a goner and I...”

He trails off. Michael is silent, doesn't know what to say.

“It hurt a lot,” Gavin says finally, and Michael bites his lip. He shifts closer so their shoulders are pressing together as well and Gavin leans into him.

“I can't lose you guys too,” he says. “Not after everything, I... I don't think I could take that. Maybe I haven't known you as long but... I don't know. I'm scared to let myself hope that this will work.”

“Until this one, every group I've been in has fallen apart too,” Michael tells him. “So for a while I stopped being in groups. And I survived but it was just... empty. You know?”

“I know.”

Michael follows his gaze over to the others. Ray is still sitting next to Ryan, dozing off against his side. He lets out a long slow breath and turns back to Gavin.

“I'm so fucking scared, Gavin. I'm scared of losing this. But it's better than having nothing left to lose. It's hard to survive here – you need something to survive _for_.”

Gavin bites at his bottom lip. He looks at the photo again and then shoves it into his pocket and sighs, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Sometimes it's worse not knowing if they're dead.”

“ _We're_ not dead,” Michael says, and something like a smile tugs at Gavin's lips.

“You're not,” he agrees. He looks at the others again and his gaze falls on Ray. He smiles again, something gentler in it, and Michael knows then that he knows how Ray feels about him, even if he hasn't said or done anything about it yet. His eyes drift to Geoff and Jack and he looks suddenly worried.

“I didn't say no to them because I didn't want it,” Gavin says, “I just wasn't sure.”

“You have time to work it out,” Michael replies. “There are things I need to work out too.”

He puts his hand over Gavin's. His are warm from where he was standing by the fire earlier; Gavin's very cold. It's an oddly intimate gesture, especially when Gavin turns his face to look at him and he realises they're sitting so close together that he can see every different fleck of colour in the other's eyes.

“Please stay with us,” he says. It comes out more quietly than he intended, almost pleading.

Gavin just squeezes his hand back and smiles softly.

—

—

The next morning the weather has improved. Michael wakes to sunlight filtering through leaves glistening with water droplets, painting the forest in strokes of vivid honey and green. The faint smouldering charcoal smell of their burnt-out campfire undercutting it all. Woodsmoke and rain.

The forest looks different and the others look different too – lighter somehow – but Michael's pretty sure he's the one who's changed, not them.

He goes off and takes a piss and when he returns to the camp he's just in time to glimpse Ryan pulling away from where he was kissing Ray – on the cheek or on the lips he can't tell – Michael smiles a bit and sees Geoff, also watching, smile too.

—

It seems like Jack and Geoff have talked since last night – caught each other up on what was discussed when they were separated – because Geoff approaches Michael later that day where he's taking up the rear of the group.

“Things are okay with Ray then,” he says, and Michael nods.

“Yeah.”

“I know you haven't known Jack and I as long. So like Jack told you last night – if you want we'll take it slow. But I do want to take it _somewhere_. No pressure or anything but do you...?”

“Yeah,” Michael says again. “I want to take it somewhere too.”

“Awesome.” Geoff grins a bit. “Also you'd better stick around because no one else appreciates my Always Sunny references.”

Michael scoffs out a laugh and remembers then just why he grew so fond of these idiots in the first place.

—

Walking is tiring but it's easy to keep his mind off that when they're talking together, laughing together.

“Throw it in my mouth,” Geoff demands, dancing backwards along the path with his mouth wide open.

Gavin lobs an Asian peanut snack – overarm, like the fool he is – and misses wildly. It falls on the ground and Ray jeers at them.

“Stop wasting food. That peanut could be the difference between life and starvation for us.”

“Five second rule,” Geoff says, picking it up and eating it anyway.

“Your turn Ray,” Gavin says, and somehow manages to hit him in the eye. Geoff hoots and Gavin laughs so hard that he veers sideways and accidentally tilts the bag and spills the rest onto the ground and-

“I hate all of you,” Ray says, but can't hide the way his lips are twitching uncontrollably so Michael knows he doesn't mean it, means the opposite, even-

—

Geoff's right that they haven't known he and Jack as long – that they're the wild cards here a bit – but later that afternoon when they've split up into pairs along the track, Michael sees him walking next to Ryan and notices how much they're both smiling.

Ray, next to him, notices too.

“I trusted them a lot quicker than I trusted you,” he comments.

“Wow thanks,” Michael replies, but he knows what he means; they're good people and he knew it from the very first interaction he had with them.

The fear is still there that this whole thing seems way too fucking good to be true but-

But-

He looks at Jack and remembers that night up awake with him, just the two of them, the dark night moving dizzily-fast around them.

 _Not everything rots_.

—

They reach the edge of the forest. Camp another night. Just before dark they glimpsed the fringes of the city on the horizon; they'll be there by tomorrow.

Gavin's on watch first but Michael can't sleep and lies awake, restless, watching him turn the ID picture over and over in his hands. His beard's been growing back, removing him slowly again from the frightened young thing Michael remembers from back at the beginning.

After a while Gavin puts the picture away and turns – elbows resting on his knees – and watches the five of them instead, lying sleeping under his keep.

—

—

—

They break from the forest onto a winding road leading down into the city. It's quiet here, no zombies or humans about. Just an empty path fringed by long grass waving gently in the breeze.

They pause for a moment, looking down. The city is spread out before them – industrial outskirts, neat rows of suburbs and finally the CBD dimly in the distance, tall buildings lit up from behind by the noon sun. From this far away the city looks empty, normal aside from the occasional plume of smoke rising up in places.

It's big. There are probably other survivors here. But Michael’s content with the ones he's with, and they all pause a moment, the unspoken question hanging between them, that last confirmation they need as to where they're going, what they're doing.

Finally Geoff clears his throat.

“House in the suburbs,” he says. “That's what I'm thinking.”

Ryan and Michael exchange glances and Michael gives a small nod. Ryan grins, slowly.

“It needs to have a high wall,” he says, and Geoff and Jack both break out smiling, something relieved in it.

“Not on a hill,” Ray adds. “Zombies come from all sides and we're fucked.”

 _We_ , Michael thinks, and smiles, but it fades a bit as they all turn towards Gavin.

He's very quiet for a moment, not looking at them but towards the city below. Then he takes a deep breath, and says, “It better have a hot tub.”

They all burst out laughing.

“There's no fucking water anymore, dumb-ass, no electricity or anything,” Michael hoots.

“Well we could heat water ourselves and put it in couldn't we!” Gavin protests.

Geoff reaches out and ruffles his hair, ignoring his squawks – it seems the awkwardness between them settled at some point, probably after they were stuck alone together in the forest – “Most people call that a _bath_ , shithead.”

Gavin squirms away, trying to fix his hair, but he's grinning as they start to head down the road.

Ray grabs up a big stick and starts stabbing at the long grass.

“Careful of snakes,” he says, which makes Geoff give such a girlish whimper that Gavin starts giggling and won't stop for ages.

The sun is high in the sky, bearing down on them, and trudging along through the grass towards the city Michael's hit with another pang of deja vu.

He glances at Ryan and their eyes meet and he knows he's thinking it too, how similar this trek is to where they first met. He remembers it vividly. The prospect of another lonely dead city ahead of him. The silence.

Now all he can hear is Gavin's squeaking laugh and Geoff snapping at him - “Snakes are _fucking creepy_ okay,” - Ray's rare quiet laugh too, Jack shaking his head in fond exasperation behind them – he smiles and tangles his fingers in Ryan's and they walk on to the city together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story turned out much differently (and much longer) than I intended starting out aha. I am planning another, quite different zombie AU involving Ryan joining the established OT5 (and with a different focus to this fic, which was more about trust/relationships) but I probably won't start that one for a little while. Gonna write a few different things first :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos or comments, I hope you enjoyed the story!! <3


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